CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

DEDICATION 3 

SKETCH  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  LIFE 5 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE  WISHES  WEEK  GRANTED 9 

NAUGHTY  TOMMY 20 

THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BUSH 30 

THE  BOY  WHO  HAD  His  WISHES  GRANTED 35 

THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW 44 

THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK 60 

SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES 70 

MlNNETTE    gO 

HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY 93 

THE  VAIN  NASTURTIUM 102 

THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE 107 

ESSAY  ON  THE  MANAGEMENT  OF  CHILDREN:* 

FIRMNESS 194. 

RESPECT  TO  PARENTS 126 

THE  DUTIES  OF  PARENTS 128 

WOMAN;  PAST,  PRESENT  AND  FUTURE 131 


First  published  in  S.F.  Chronicle. 


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TO   THOSE   WHO   LOVE   ME 

THIS 

LITTLE    VOLUME 

IB 

AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED. 


ALICE  KINGSBURY. 


ALICE    KINGSBURY. 


IT  has  often  been  said,  that  to  know  something  of  the  personal  biogra 
phy  of  the  author  of  a  book  is  a  general  desire  with  the  reader.  There 
is  much  truth,  doubtless,  in  the  statement.  When  the  public  is  pleased 
with  the  work,  it  naturally  desires  to  know  something  of  the  source 
whence  the  entertainment  emanated.  With  a  view  to  gratify  this  gen 
eral  desire,  a  slight  sketch  of  the  author  of  Ho!  FOR  ELF-LAND!  is 
herewith  given. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CRICKET. 

We  all  remember  how,  a  little  over  ten  years  ago,  a.'new  sensation  burst 
upon  us  in  the  advent  of  Alice  Kingsbury,  the  •"  JGlfin  Star.'"  She  had 
sought  the  Golden  State  to  find  a  brother  long  supposed  to  ,be  deaJ,  but 
of  whom  she. had  heard  from  an  old  Calif orniau.  She  had  made  an  ar 
rangement  with  Mr.  Maguire's  agent  in  New  York,  to  fill  a  meager  en 
gagement  of  ten  nights,  the  only  time  then  vacant.  But  when  she  ar 
rived,  the  manager  informed  her  that  it  was  a  mistake,  as  all  the  time 
was  filled  for  months  to  come. 

Lady  Don  was  in  the  midst  of  a  successful  engagement  ;  Celeste  was 
shortly  to  commence  ;  the  great  Forrest  was  to  return.  Things  looked 
gloomy  for  the  ' '  Cricket, "  as  her  brother  had  lost  nearly  all  his  fortune 
by  the  Hood  and  unproductive  mines,  and  her  exchequer  was  depleted  by 
waiting  and  the  necessary  expenses  of  living.  Then,  too,  she  was  in  a 
wt range  land,  friendless  and  unknown. 

On  the  memorable  night  of  her  first  appearance  she  arose  from  a  sick 
bed  with  one  of  those  fearful  nervous  sick-headaches.  She  waited,  with  a 
handkerchief  saturated  with  chloroform  bound  around  her  head,  and  her 
heart  beating  fast  with  anxious  excitement.  The  curtain  rose;  would 
that  mass  of  people  prove  her  friends  or  enemies  ?  The  next  few  mo 
ments  would  decide.  To  quote  from  the  Gazette,  a  popular  journal  at 
that  time: 


6  ALICE  KINGSBURY. 

On  Wednesday  evening  the  "  Elfin  Star,"  as  the  bills  styled  Miss  Alice 
Kingsbury,  made  her  first  appearance  before  a  California  audience,  and, 
as  is  usual  on  such  occasions,  was  greeted  by  a  very  full  house.  Miss 
Alice  was  quite  a  stranger  to  the  audience.  Fame  had  not  preceded  her, 
and  no  one  knew  that  she  had  arrived  in  our  midst  until  some  time  after 
the  fact.  Common  consent  seemed  to  conclude  that  she  would  not  amount 
to  much.  It  was  announced  that  she  would  assume  the  role  of  "Fanchon, 
the  Cricket,"  in  the  drama  of  the  .same  title;  and  immediately  recollec 
tions  of  Maggie  Mitchell  in  that  character  were  awakened.  Fanchon 
burst  upon  the  audience  like  a  flash;  completely  taken  by  surprise,  unable 
to  appreciate  the  naturalness  of  the  acting  of  the  little  witch  before  them, 
they  almost  refused  to  credit  their  own  senses  and  lie  satisfied.  They 
gazed  on  in  silent  wonder  during  the  first  ac£,  and  not  until  its  close  did  they 
summon  up  courage  and  courtesy  enough  to  give  her  a  round  or  two  of 
applause.  The  fact  is,  we  have  been  so  much  accustomed  to  what  is  termed 
ariixtic  excellence,  that  we  have  lost  sight  of  what  is  entirely  artless,  un 
affected  and  natural.  The  audience  wished  to  see  Miss  Alice  Kingsbury; 
they  were  at  first  disappointed  in  only  seeing  a  little,  wild,  Jiarum- 
scarum  witch  of  a  thing,  dancing  about  the  stage  in  utter  disregard  of  all 
conventional  rules%  Consequently,  when  the  curtain  went  down,  critical 
lips  werji  ^jjainfnl'V  ^  compi'tssed  and  Bohemian  brows  contracted;  the 
knowing  ones,  witlr'an  bininciis  shake  of  the  head,  owl-like,  muttered 
"  Ov.er-done,  won't  .do. '"  During- the  second  act  there  was  much  of  the 
same' eEia -lik  y  uctK-.^}  yet  loiijj;-  before  its  close  those  lips  began  to  relax. 
She  was  creeping ' u poil  tli'e  affections  of  her  audience,  and  those  Bohe 
mian  brows  gradually  unbent,  smiles  of  satisfaction  iind  pleasure  beamed 
in  many  an  eye,  and  when  the  curtain  went  down  on  the  second  act  it  was 
amidst  rounds  of  cheers  and  applause.  But  the  audience  was  not  com 
pletely  vanquished — horse,  foot  and  dragoons — until  the  third  act.  There 
the  willful  little  witch  makes  way  for  the  lonely  little  body  whom  nobody 
loves  and  nobody  cares  for;  and  then  the  little  Cricket  took  the  audience 
by  storm,  they  capitulating  with  tears  in  their  eyes.  Yes,  as  a  positive 
fact,  the  natural  and  unaffected  acting  of  Miss  Kingsbury,  in  this  and  lite 
succeeding  acts,  affected  her  audience  to  tears  and  to  laughter— just  as 
the  little  Cricket  determined.  The  magnetic  attraction  which  she  had 
established  between  herself  and  the  audience  was  so  great  that  she  swayed 
them  at  will.  Yeteran  theater-goers,  who  esteem  their  opinions  as  of 
weight  if  only  on  the  score  of  experience,  declare  they  never  saw  the  equal 
of  Fanchon  on  ^'ednesday.  Admirers  of  Maggie  Mitchell  threw  up  the 
sponge  with  alacrity  and  joined  in  the  general  applause.  Every  action 
of  Miss  Kingsbury  is  suited  to  the  momentary  passion;  over  her  beautiful 
and  expressive  face  the  smile  chases  away  the  tear  with  natural  simplicity; 
the  petulance  of  a  spoiled  child;  the  grief  of  the  deserted,  scorned  little 
woman;  the  tenderness  of  the  child  speaking  of  her  mother,  broken  by 
sobs  which  well  up  from  her  girlish  bosom — were  all  depicted  with  an  un 
usual  and  surprising  degree  of  natural  force  and  beauty.  Her  voice  is 


ALICE  KIX(!SBURY.|  7 

sympathetic;  her  eye  Hashes  with  joy  or  hate;  her  figure  as  graceful 
as  jn-fifc.     Not  seeking  after  stage  effect,  <a  a  desire  to  swerve  a  moment 


troiii  her  rokt  she  seems  to  forget  that  she  is  any  one  but  Fanchon,  and 
has  the  singular  ]»..\ver  of  making  her  audience'  believe  the  same  thing. 
Ihe  little  Cricket  was  called  before  the  curtain  at  the  end  of  every  act: 
at  the  close  of  the  third,  she  responded  in  a  few  remarks,  assuring  her 
audience  that  "she  would  do  her  best  to  please  them,  and  she  had  come 
a  great  many  miles  to  do  it."  Why,  bless  her  dear  little  heart,  did  she 
say  that  to  dry  up  the  tears  she  had  caused  to  flow  from  eyes  that  long- 
since  were  supposed  to  have  been  tearless?  She  could  do  no  better;  no 
one,  not  even  Rachel,  or  Forrest  as  Virginius,  could  so  move  an  audience 
as  the  poor  little  Cricket  did  hers  on  Wednesday  evening.  And  if  that  is 
not  as  convincing  a  test  as  can  be  found,  we  would  like  'to  know  a  better. 

The  town  went  wild  over  that  rendering  of  a  character  which,  presented 
by  her  with  all  the  earnestness,  truthfulness,  and  utter  sinking  of  the 
actress  in  the  character  presented,  formed  a  picture  on  the  memory  of 
many  which  has  not  yet  been  effaced. 

Before  the  expiration  of  the  ten  nights,  she  was  re-engaged,  and  her 
popularity  was  sufficient  to  lill  the  theater  nightly  during  eight  weeks,  to 
the  intense  delight  of  crowded  audiences,  the  great  advantage  of  the 
manager's  receipts,  and  her  own  bank  account.  Then  for  seven  weeks 
she  met  a  similar  success  in  the  interior,  returning  to  San  Francisco  for 
almost  as  long  an  engagement  as  before,  playing  Fancbon  thirty-six  times, 
also  many  other  characters,  volunteering  for  several  charities,  and  not  a 
few  benefits.  She  bade  farewell  to  San  Francisco,  leaving  it  as  the  great 
est  favorite  that  had  ever  appeared  on  its  stage;  as  witness  a  few  short 
quotations  from  the  journals  of  the  day: 

The  engagement  of  the  Elfin  Star,  Alice  Kingsbnry,  has  thus  far  proved 
a  triumphant  success.  On  last  Saturday  evening,  long  before  ei"ht 
O'clock,  a  placard  on  which  was  written  "House  Full,"  was  displavedlfor 
the  edification  of  late  comers.  —  S.  F.  Leader. 

That  she  has  become  with  so  little  apparent  exertion  the  pet  of  San 
Francisco,  and  one  of  the  greatest  favorites  who  has  ever  run  through  a 
prosperous  season  here,  is  due  to  an  indescribable  charm  with  whichNa- 
i  ire  has  endowed  her,  and  which  in  much  that  she  does  transcends  and 
replaces  Art  Those  of  our  play-goers  who  have  not  witnessed  her  per 
formance  of  "Pauvrette"  have  missed  a  treat  that  occurs  but  seldom  in  a  life- 
The  play,  in  fact,  seems  to  have  been  written  especially  for  this 
elfin  actress,  who  seems  to  have  bewitched  all  hearts.  —  S'."/'.  Cc'ff. 


8  ALICE  KINGSBURY. 

We  have  nothing  new  to  chronicle  in  the  affairs  of  the  Opera  House- 
not  even  a  shy  audience  or  a  vacant  seat  to  note.  Great  is  Kingsbury, 
wonderful  her  success,  and  immense  the  profit  of  manager  Maguire.  » 
F.  Sunday  Mercury. 

No  other  engagement  has  equaled  this  lady's,  either  in  the  continued 
crowded  houses  she  has  drawn,  or  the  overflowing  treasury,  or  the  com-  , 
plete  satisfaction  and  delight  that  all  her  personations  have  afforded  to 
one  thousand  people  each  night  during  four  successive  weeks.—  Galtjorma 
Leader. 

This  vouno-  lady  may  feel  proud  of  her  triumph— for  it  is  a  triumph  un- 
equaled  in  the  theatrical  annuls  of  the  Pacific  Coast.—  Calif orma  Gazette. 

Returning  to  the  eastern  states  she  was  shortly  afterward  married  to 
Brevet  Lieut- Col.  F.  M.  Cooley,  then  a  Captain  in  the  regular  army, 
commanding  the  post  at  Natchez,  Miss.,  where  they  lived  very  happily, 
raising  a  family  of  bright  little  ones  to  render  home  still  more  attractive. 
The  "  Cricket  "  is  now  a  resident  with  us,  turning  her  attention  to  litera 
ture  and  the  fine  arts,  occasionally  appearing  before  the  public,  and  re 
newing  her  triumphs  of  old.  Mrs.  Cooley  in  private  life  is  known  as  a 
good  wife  and  mother,  and  a  kind  and  faithful  friend. 

FRANK  SOULE. 


Ho!  FOR  ELF-LAND! 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE  WISHES  WERE  GRANTED. 


NCE  upon  a  time,  in  a  very  old-fashioned  village,  and 
in  a  very  old-fashioned  house,  there  lived  a  little  girl. 
",  One  cold  winter's  night,  she  was  sitting  by  the  fire 
with  her  mother,  who  had  been  telling  her  all  sorts  of  stories 
to  make  home  attractive  and  to  be  remembered  when  she 
should  grow7  up,  and  perhaps  be  far  away,  when  the  little  girl 
suddenly  said: 

"Mamma,  I  wish  I  could  have  all  my  wishes  granted." 
"Ah!  Man  die,  remember  the  black  pudding." 
"Why,  mamma,  do  you  think  I  would  be  so  foolish  as  to 
wish  for  such  a  thing  ?  With  only  three  wishes  too !" 

"Let  me  hear  what  would  be  some  of  your  first  wise  wishes, 
daughter." 

"Oh,  I  would  wish — oh,  I  would  wish — let  me  see,  what 
would  I  wish  ?"  Her  mother  laughed  heartily. 

"Oh,  I  thought  your  wishes  were  so  many,  and  so  urgent, 
that  you  could  name  fifty  at  least,  without  stopping." 

"Well,  I  w7ould  wish  that — that  I  would  never  have  to  have 
a  tooth  pulled;  and  then — then  I  would  wish  never  to  have 
chilblains.  Ugh!  don't  they  hurt  now7  ?"  and  she  rubbed  her 
feet  together,  till  you  would  think  she  had  w^orn  holes  in  her 
shoes. 

"Well,  your  wishes  are  not  very  extravagant!" 

"Oh!  but  I  would  wish  much  more.     To  be  very  wise — " 


10  A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE 

"What!  without  studying-?" 

"Of  course,  or  what  would  be  the  use  of  having  your  wishes 
granted  !  Any  body  can  be  wise  by  studying.  Then  I'd  wish 
to  be  very  beautiful — much  prettier  than  I  am  now." 

"Oh!  you  think  you  are  pretty,  do  you?" 

"Well,  mamma,  I  ain't  as  ugly  as  Mollie  Lynx,  and  I'm  not, 
freckled  and  got  red  hair;"  but  her  mamma's  remark  had 
rather  abashed  her,  so  she  continued,  hesitatingly,  "and— and 
I  would  like  a  new  pink  dress." 

It  seemed  to  grow  colder,  and  the  wind  whistled  around  the 
house,  so  they  drew  nearer  to  the  fire,  and  Maudie  laid  her 
head  on  her  mamma's  lap,  and  looked  dreamily  into  the  red 
coals. 

"Mamma,  I  can  see  ever  so  many  pretty  things  in  the  fire. 
See!  doesn't  that  look  like  a  dear  little  fairy?" 

But  her  mamma  was  thinking  of  days  long  gone  by  when 
her  hair  was  caressed  by  a  loving  hand,  and  the  fire  made  pict 
ures  for  her,  too.  But  the  door  suddenly  blew  open  and 
made  them  shiver  with  the  cold. 

"Run,  Maudie,  quick,  and  shut  the  door." 

"Why,  ma,  I— 

"Surely,  you  are  not  afraid?  ..  Oh,  fie!" 

"I  don't  like  to  be  jumping  up  so  often,  when  I  am  so  com 
fortable." 

"Why,  Maudie!     Shut  the  door  when  you  are  told." 

"Humph!  I  wish  there  weren't  any  doors  in  the  world." 

No  sooner  had  the  words  escaped  her  lips,  than  a  most  ter- 
~  rible  crash  startled  them.  Maudie  shrieked  and  hid  her  head 
in  her  mother's  dress,  thinking  a  thunderbolt  had  struck  the 
house,  and  they  would  soon  be  crushed  beneath  the  ruins. 
But  it  was  only  the  doors  that  had  all  fallen  down  and  broken 
into  splinters,  fit  only  for  kindling  wood. 


AVISHKS  WERE  GRANTED.  H 

4 'Oh,  mamma,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Is  it  a  hurricane  ?  See ! 
the  very  doors  of  the  cupboard  are  broken  to  pieces,  too!'5 

The  wind  rushed  in  and  blew  the  smoke  from  the  chimney, 
till  it  nearly  blinded  them,  so  the  fire  had  to  be  'put  out.  It 
was  too  late  to  get  a  carpenter  to  put  up  new  doors,  and  they 
hadn't  a  man  in  the  house  to  protect  them;  so  they  called  up 
the  little  niaid-of -all-work,  unchained  the  big  dog,  and  all  four 
determined  to  keep  watch  till  the  day  dawned.  But  it  got  so 
cold,  that  they  were  glad  to  go  to  bed,  letting  the  little  maid 
sleep  at  the  foot,  and  the  big  dog  on  the  hearth-rug,  with  a 
blanket  throw^ii  over  him. 

When  daylight  came,  her  mamma  hurried  to  the  nearest  car 
penter  and  told  him  she  wanted  ten  doors  put  up  immedi 
ately. 

"Ten  doors!  Why,  ma'am,  I've  orders  for  a  hundred  already 
this  morning,  and  I  got  all  my  apprentices  and  any  man  that 
can  plane  a  board  and  drive  a  nail  straight  working  for  me. 
Can't  possibly  do  them  tell  next  week." 

She  went  to  all  the  carpenters  in  the  village  and  received 
the  same  answer.  "What  could  have  ailed  all  the  doors  ?  And 
.what  was  stranger  still,  as  soon  as  a  new  door  was  put  up, 
down  it  fell,  *md  was  shivered  to  pieces. 

So  her 'mamma  went  home  and  hungup  blankets  and  pieces 
of  carpets;  anything  to  keep  some  of  the  wind  out.  And  how 
funny  the  village  looked  with  carpets  all  colors  of  the  rainbow 
flapping  from  the  doorways!  So  it  was  for  alveek^.and  the 
village  was  full  of  carpenters  from  the  surrounding  towns, 
who  were  all  busy  making  iron-bound  doors,  doors  studded 
with  great  brass  knobs,  every  kind  of  door  they  thought 
wouldn't  break. 

One  day  Mnudie  said,  "Oh,  dear!  I'm  so  tired  of   the   cold 


12  A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE 

and  the  old  flapping  carpets,  that  I  would  like  any  kind  of 
doors,  even  made  of  the  roughest  old  boards;  I  wish  we  all 
had  doors  of  some  kind  or  another,  that  would  keep  the  cold 
out/'  Soon  they  began  to  feel  warmer,  and  quickly  discov 
ered  the  cause;  some  hideous  old  boards  in  the  form  of  a  door 
guarded  the  entrance. 

"Oh,  mamma!  Oughtn't  the  carpenter  be  ashamed  to  put 
up  such  a  door  as  that  ?"  But  a  loud  rap  caused  them  to 
open  it. 

"I  come  to  put  up  them  doors/' 

"You're  too  late." 

"D'ye  call  that  a  door?"  and  the  man  turned  away  laughing 
ironically.  Twenty  times  that  day  rap !  rap !  went  the  door, 
and  twenty  times  they  opened  it  to  men  who  had  been  sent  to 
put  up  those  doors;  so  to  escape  the  annoyance  they  took  a 
walk  in  the  village,  and  such  doors  greeted  them!  Bed,  blue, 
green,  and  yellow  doors ,  glass,  iron,  and  doors  of  one  hundred 
years  ago. 

Soon  Maudie's  mother  had  the  doors  planed  and  painted, 
so  they  were  quite  satisfied. 

One  day  her  mamma  bought  Maudie  a  beautiful  new  dress, 
the  very  pink  one  she  had  thought  of  wishing  for.  It  fitted  her 
so  nicely  with  the  little  jacket  and  "  pull-back  "—though  the 
village  was  old-fashioned,  the  young  people  were  not.  It  was 
all  finished  but  the  frill  for  the  neck. 

"Maudie,  you  must  hem  this;  for  little  girls  cannot  learn 
too  early  to  make  their  own  dresses;  it's  a  great  accomplish 
ment." 

So  Maudie  eagerly  took  the  frill,  and  hemmed  diligently  for 
just  five  minutes,  then  she  stuck  her  finger.  "  Oh,  dear! "  she 
sighed,  and  for  the  next  five  minutes  she  kept  her  finger  in 


W I  si  IKS  \YKKK  GRANTED.  13 

her  mouth;  then  she  sewed  for  three  minutes.  "  I  think  I'll 
rest  a  little  now/'  she  said,  laying  the  frill  upon  a  chair. 

"  No,  YOU  must  finish  it,  for  I  wish  to  put  the  dress  away." 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  said,  and  sat  down  with  an  impatient 
thump;  but.  she  got  up  with  a  little  scream,  quicker  than  she 
sat  down.  Looking  very  cross,  she  threw  the  frill  on  the 
floor,  exclaiming : 

' '  I  wish  all  the  new  dresses  were  in  Jericho ! "  The  sky 
suddenly  became  darkened  as  if  by  a  terrible  storm,  and  a 
shriek  by  five  hundred  female  voices  rent  the  air.  They  rushed 
to  the  window  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  just  in  time  to  see 
the  beautiful  pink  dress  fly  out  of  the  window  and  join  the 
army  of  rustling  garments.  Ten  hundred  hands  were  stretched 
heavenward,  but  in  vain;  the  dresses  stopped  or  stayed  not, 
but  fled  over  hills,  valleys,  rivers,  mountains,  cities  and  plains, 
the  wonder  and  terror  of  the  inhabitants,  who  thought  an 
army  of  ghostly,  headless  women  were  flying  in  the  sky. 

The  village  soon  appeared  to  have  suffered  some  calamity, 
for  nearly  every  house  was  closed,  and  within  sat  weeping 
women,  who  would  not  be  comforted. 

The  churches  for  several  Sundays  were  deserted,  save  by  the 
old  people  and  the  children,  till  the  young  girls  could  make 
over  their  old  dresses,  their  new  ones  having  gone  to  Jericho. 

The  female  Jerichoans  were  surprised,  delighted,  enraptured 
at  this  harvest  of  dresses,  and  had  they  been  barbarians,  ii 
would  have  done  kiore  to  civilize  them  than  all  the  mission 
aries;  for  who  could  remain  a  savage  with  a  "  pull-back"  on  ? 

When  the  spring-time  came  Maudie's  mamma  gave  her  a 
birthday  party,  and  made  her  such  a  pretty  white  dress;  but 
it  was  not  quite  finished  in  time,  so  the  waist  and  skirt  had  to 
be  pinned  on. 


14  A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE 

How  beautiful  the  little  girls  looked  in  their  pink,  white 
and  blue  dresses,  with  broad  sashes,  and  their  gold  and  silver 
shoes!  and  the  little  boys  were  model  beaux.  They  had 
played  every  conceivable  game,  both  in  doors  and  out,  and  it 
was  getting  near  sunset  and  supper  time ;  so  they  were  having 
the  last  dance  on  the  green  before  going  into  the  house;  and 
you  should  see  the  airs  and  graces  those  little  misses  put  on. 
The  dance  ended  with  a  grand  promenade,  and  as  Maudie's 
partner  put  his  arm  around  her  waist,  one  of  the  treacherous 
pins  pierced  his  hand.  He  withdrew  his  arm  quickly,  with  a 
little  "  Oh!  "  and  there  the  blood  was  running  from  his  finger. 

"  Oh,  the  mean,  wicked  pin!  I'm  so  sorry!"  cried  Man  die, 
binding  it  up  with  her  tiny  lace  handkerchief.  "Oh,  I — I 
wish  there  wasn't  a  pin  in  the  world! " 

What  was  the  matter  with  the  girls  !  Were  they  taken  sud 
denly  ill  ?  Some  grasped  their  dresses  with  both  hands,  and 
ran  for  their  homes,  without  even  saying  good-by;  some  rushed 
to  the  parlor,  some  to  the  bedroom,  some  to  the  greenhouse, 
and  some  stood  still  in  horror  and  surprise. 

The  lawn  looked  as  if  it  was  turned  into  a  dress-maker's 
store;  there  were  skirts  with  beautiful  embroidery,  skirts  with 
tiny  tucks,  with  insertion,  tatting,  crochet,  and  some  with 
plain  hems,  sashes,  flowers,  ribbons,  ruffs,  and  must  it  be 
confessed?  one  pair  of  pantalettes;  the  little  girl  who  owned 
them  had  been  too  lazy  to  sew  on  a  button. 

How  mortified  Mauclie  was,  standing  there  in  the  waist  of 
her  dress,  the  skirt  dangling  about  her  feet. 

There  was  no  more  party  that  day,  and  the  nice  little  supper 
was  prepared  in  vain.  Strange  to  say,  only  the  little  girls 
wTho  had  the  finest  clothes,  came  after  them;  the  others  would 
not  acknowledge  having  lost  a  thing;  especially  if  ^here  was 


WJS  WERE  GRANTED.  15 

.a  rent  in  the  skirt,  or  the  embroidery  was  torn.  And  Maudie 
was  a  miserable  little  girl  for  just  three  days;  she  couldn't  be 
unhappy  any  longer,  for  she  was  going  to  a  picnic,  and  had 
such  a  pretty  pair  of  new  shoes;  and  as  her  feet  were  small, 
she  was  anxious  to  show  them.  She  was  so  happy  that  morn 
ing;  obedient  to  her  mamma,  and  pleasant  and  obliging  to 
every  one;  but  when  she  put  on  her  shoes,  oh,  horror!  they 
were  too  small.  But  she  determined  to  wear  them  an; 
they  were  so  nice,  and  would  be  sure  to  stretch  all  right,  for 
they  were  made  to  order.  They  had  to  vr.ilk  clown  a  Jittk-  hill 
to  join  the  others,  for  they  lived  \-r>  tin  »>dge  of  th- 
and  every  step  was  a  pain  to  poor  Mai; 

"  Oh!  dear!  Mamma,  isn't  it  bo<  h?i  '.  they  do  hurt  so,  that 
I  wish  the  old  shoemaker  had  one  of  the:.  i !  " 

The  next  moment  she  stepped  on  a  ivttJ:  creaming 

with  pain,  she  looked  down  at  ho  Jd  it  was 

minus  a  shoe !  and  running  toward  the;"  v  is  tire  poor  shoe 
maker  gasping  and  choking  with  M.  lioejtn  his  mouth ! 
She  rushed  to  him,  and  pulling  it  wit  -rce,  out  it 
came,  and  she  fell  one  way,  he  the  other.  Wbfen  thev  got  up, 
he  said:  / 

"Oh,  Miss,  how  could  you  kick  your  s;  ir  r :'  but  she 

quickly  put  it  on,  and  did  not  say  a  word/  They  came  to  a 
little  puddle  of  water,  and  Maudie  put  bofih  he*  feet  into  it. 

"Ah!  that  helps  right  away,"  she  said, /md  spiked  on  more 
cheerfully.  They  soon  joined  the  otheyhs.  and  laughing  and 
shouting  they  crowded  into  the  lar<.«  -d  wagon,  and 

rode  to  the  picnic  grounds.     We  y  wliaf  a  picnic  is, 

and  this  was  like  those  we  enjoyed  ^-Q,  and  remember 

so  well  to  this  day. 

The  trees  were  so  tall  and  tho  s  ,-ere  so  high  that 

Lie  said  it  was  delightful,  just  li  'v  going  up  in  a  balloon. 


16  A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE 

"Push  harder,  Hoddie;  swing  me  just  as  high  as  you  can. 
I  wish  I  could  swing  up  to  the  moon."  Hoddie  must  have 
obeyed  her,  for"  she  had  never  swung  so  high  before  in  all  her 
life.  Why,  she  wras  still  going  up,  and  up,  and  up.  "What 
could  Hoddie  mean  ?  Soon  it  became  dark,  and  the  stars  shone. 
While  she  was  wondering  what  it  all  meant,  she  came  plump 
up  against  the  moon.  The  seat  of  the  swing  struck  the  door 
so  hard  that  the  man  in  the  moon  came  out  and  asked  her 
what  she  wanted  there. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I'm  at  a  picnic,  and  they  swung  me  so 
high,  that  I  accidently  struck  your  door;  but  now7  I  am  here, 
won't  you  please  be  kind  enough  to  show  me  your  country?" 
She  spoke  so  pleasantly  that  the  little  man  in  the  moon  con 
sented,  and  taking  her  hand,  he  led  her  into  his  house  to  rest 
a  bit.  But  the  atmosphere  was  so  light  that  she  soon  became 
light-headed. 

"  Oh,  dealt!  I  hope  I'm  not  going  to  become  a  luna — some 
thing,  for  that's  the  way  the  moon  affects  some  people." 

"  Here,  take,  a  drop  of  fermented  moonbeams;  that'll  make 
you  all  right,"  a\id  the  little  man  gave  her  a  crystal  goblet,  filled 
with  a  clear,  transparent,  yellow  liquid.  She  tasted  it,  then 
she  drank  a  littleV  then  a  little  more,  till  she  had  drained  it  to 
the  bottom.  Oh!  \liow  jolly  she  did  feel! 

"Say,  little  man\  in  the  moon,  do  you  ever  dance?"  then 
seizing  him  by  both\hands,  she  danced  and  laughed  till  her 
feet  felt  ready  to  fall\off;  the  little  man  danced,  too,  and  such 
a  time  as  they  did  have !  She  could  not  stop  laughing  and 
dancing  till  she  droppeVl  on  the  floor  exhausted. 

"Is  this  what  the  genVlemen  drink,  that  makes  them  moon- 
blind?"  she  said,  "for  I\  can't  see  anything  now." 

The  little  man  laughed\ heartily.     "Oh,  ho!"  he   said,  "you 


WISUKS  WERE  GRANTED.  17 

are  cunning."  Then  he  went  out  and  got  a  bucketful  of  un- 
iVriaented  moonbeams  and  threw  over  her.  Soon  she  was  all 
right  again,  but  too  tired  to  climb  the  mountains;  so  she  asked 
if  he  couldn't  send  her  home,  as  her  mother  would  be  very 
anxious  about  her. 

"Yes,  go  home  on  your  swing;  you  see  it  has  caught  on  to 
the  horn  of  my  moon." 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  I  couldn't  possibly  go  that  way  again.  It 
frightens  me  to  think  of  it!  Imagine  with  what  a  thump  I 
might  strike  the  earth!" 

"Oh!  you  live  on  the  earth,  do  you;  that  mean  little  ball 
that  gets  so  often  between  me  and  the  bright  sun,  and  casts 
me  completely  in  the  shade  ?  I've  a  good  mind  to  pitch  you 
into  space,  so  there'll  be  one  less  to  obstruct  the  light.  He 
caught  hold  of  her  so  fiercely  and  looked  so  cross,  that  he 
nearly  frightened  her  out  of  her  wits. 

"Oh,  please,  good  man  in  the  moon,  don't,  and  I'll  never  get 
in  your  light  again.  I'll  get  under  a  tree,  or  in  the  shade,  or 
go  to  bed!  Oh,  please  send  me  home  some  other  way!  How 
do  you  leave  here,  when  you  go  away  ?" 

"Oh,  I  ride  on  a  moon-beam!" 

"Oh!  that  would  be  splendid!     Please  let  me!" 

"How  could  you  ?  Look  at  my  breeches!  There's  fifty  sep 
arate  seats  of  buckskins  sewed  in  them." 

"Well,  can't  you  lend  me  a  pair?" 

"You'd  look  a  pretty  sight!  besides  I've  only  got  an  old 
pair  with  the  seats  all  worn  out,  but  if  you  can  sew  in  the 
others  you  are  welcome  to  them,  but  you  must  leave  me  your 
dress  and  skirts  in  exchange !" 

So  Maudie  sat  and  sewed,  and  sewed,  and  sewed,  and  when 
she  had  put  in  forty  seats,  with  many  sighs  and  groans,  for 
2 


18  A  LITTLE  GIRL  WHOSE 

she  did  not  like  sewing  at  all,  she  asked  if  that  would  not  do, 
as  she  weighed  so  much  less  than  he  did. 

"You  can  try,"  he  said;  "go  into  that  room  and  change." 

What  a  sight  she  came  out !  Her  little  sack  covered  her  body , 
and  those  hideous  forty-seated  breeches  her  pretty  little  legs. 

"Oh,  dear!  I'm  a  little  afraid  to  attempt  it,"  she  said,  as  he 
led  her  to  a  straight,  bright  moon-beam,  that  stretched  so  far 
ahead  that  she  could  not  see  the  end  of  it. 

"Well,  try  the  swing,  then." 

"No;  I  won't  do  that,  but  I've  an  idea:  can't  I  hold  on  to 
the  seat  ?  and  as  it  is  loose  011  the  rope,  it  will  slide  down  easily, 
if  you  tie  that  tight  to  the  horn,  so  I  shall  feel  quite  nicely." 
He  did  as  she  said;  then  she  thanked  him  kindly,  and  asked 
him  to  call,  the  next  time  he  visited  the  earth,  and  bidding 
him  good-bye,  she  started. 

Whew!  how  fast  she  went! 

"There's  four  seats  worn 'through  already!"  she  said. 

"Oh,  good  gracious!  there's  a  dozen  more  gone!  there'll  be 
two  of  me,  when  I  reach  home!" 

Down  she  went,  faster  and  faster.  It  nearly  took  away  her 
breath,  and  she  tried  to  think  how  many  of  the  seats  were 
left;  but  she  reached  the  earth  with  such  force,  as  the  thirty- 
ninth  was  cut  through,  that  she  knew  no  more,  till  she  felt  her 
mother  bathing  her  face,  and  asking  how  in  the  world  she  got 
into  the  back-yard  in  that  terrible  shape. 

She  told  her  mother  everything,  and  she  felt  so  sorry  for  her, 
and  wrapping  her  in  a  blanket,  she  gave  her  a  cup  of  hot  tea, 
and  put  her  to  bed.  In  the  morning  she  was  all  right,  and 
looked  upon  her  adventure  with  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction. 
She  was  always  talking  of  her  visit  to  the  moon,  till  the  peo 
ple  began  to  think  her  a  little  "loony." 

One  day  she  was  going  with  her  mother  out  visiting,  so  she 


WISHI-s  \VERE  GRANTED.  19 

wanted  to  look  extra  nice.  She  had  beautiful  curly  blonde 
hair,  and  she  was  combing  it  into  ringlets,  when  her  mamma 
told  her  to  huny,  or  they  would  be  late,  and  as  we  all  know 
hurrying  is  a  very  poor  way  to  make  haste  to  do  one's  hair,  it 
knotted  and  tangled,  and  she  became  furious. 

"Oh,  dear!  don't  I  wish  my  hair  was  as  straight  as  a  poker!" 
she  cried  petulantly.  The  comb  went  ^through  it  now  so 
smoothly  and  quickly  that  she  was  delighted,  and  ran  to  the 
glass  to  brush  it  around  the  curling-stick;  but  what  was  her 
horror  to  find  that  with  all  the  brushing  it  remained  as  straight 
as  n  poker. 

"Oh,  dear  mamma!"  she  said  in  terror,  "I  believe  some  fairy 
has  been  granting  all  my  wishes.  Oh,  clear!  I  wish  she  wouldn't 
do  so  any  more!" 

Her  mother  laughed,  and  said,  "Well,  we  must  make  haste. 
Why,  your  hair  is  not  done  yet!" 

"I  just  wished  it  was  as  straight  as  a  poker,  and  I  can't  curl 
it  now  one  bit;  I've  wished  the  fairy  wouldn't  do  so  any  more, 
and  forgot  to  wish  first  that  my  hair  would  curl  again.  Oh, 
dear!  oh,  dear!  what  shall  I  do?" 

'•'Where's  the  wisdom,  beauty,  and  other  good  things  you 
were  going  to  wish  for?" 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!"  she  moaned,  rocking  herself  discon 
solately. 

"Ah,  Mauclie,  I  think  you  have  made  a  worse  bargain  than 
the  poor  woman  who  wished  for  the  black  pudding." 

"Oh!  mamma;  to  think  I  might  have  been  the  handsomest 
person  in  the  world,  and  you  the  richest,  and  both  of  us  wise 
—but  you  are  wise  anyhow;  then  I  might  have  had— O!  O! 
O-o-o !"  and  she  burst  out  crying  like  a  spoiled  child.  "And  to 
think,  all  I've  got  for  my  wishes  is,  to  lose  my  pretty  pink 
dress,  and  have  hair  as  straight  as  a  poker!" 


NAUGHTY  TOMMY. 

sOMMY  was  not  a  good  little  boy;  in  fact  he  did  not 
like  good  little  boys;  he  had  heard  too  much  of 
them,  yet  he  had  never  known  but  one,  and  that  was 
Jim  Smith's  little  boy,  who  always  had  a  cold  in  his  head,  and 
spoke  through  his  "close." 

Tommy's  father  was  convivial  and  his  mother  was  scientific. 
She  initiated  him  into  the  mysteries  of  volcanos,  earthquakes, 
tidal  waves  and  the  like;  and  his  father  introduced  him  to  the 
soothing  pastime  of  casino,  and  allowed  him  to  watch  the  con 
cocting  of  a -milk-punch  or  a  hot  whisky;  so  when  Tommy 
was  six  years  old,  his  education  was  pretty  far  advanced. 
Tommy  had  a  Websterian  head,  and  whenever  there  was  a 
door  to  be  bumped,  or  a  corner  to  be  encountered,  that  head 
did  it  forcibly;  and  in  the  trifling  events  of  falls  from  trees, 
ladders,  barns,  etc.,  that  head  always  came  first  in  contact 
with  the  earth.  Yet  Tommy  was  pretty  well  satisfied  with  this 
world  as  it  is,  and  enjoyed  the  good  things  of  life  to  the  utter 
most,  except  when  he  had  bitter  medicine  to  take;  then  he 
wished  that  he  was  in  his  grave,  or  that  his  life  was  ended. 
His  father  used  to  smile  at  the  learned  way  he  expressed  him 
self,  but  his  mother  said  it  was  from  hearing  refined  language- 
used  at  home — the  little  swear  words  he  heard  occasionally 
from  his  father,  she  passed  over  in  dignified  silence. 

One  day  Tommy  went  with  his  parents  to  a  grand  p- 
how  he  did  enjoy  himself. 


NAr<;iiTY  TOMMY.  21 

"Mamma,"  lie  said,  "the  ice  cream,  cakes  and  lemonade  are 
delicious.  I  don't  care  for  the  ordinary  food,  chickens  and 
that,  for  I  can  get  plenty  at  home."  The  mother  remembered 
with  half  a  sigh  that  her  cake  was  not  always  a  success,  owing, 
no  doubt,  to  the  non-risibility  of  the  yeast,  or  the  condition 
of  the  stove,  so  she  told  him  not  to  eat  too  much,  but  to  act 
like  a  gentleman  in  everything. 

He  liked  to  attract  attention,  as  all  children  do,  who  are  con 
sidered  smart  by  their  indulgent  parents,  so  had  spoken  his 
two  little  pieces  half  a  dozen  times,  till  even  the  praise  became 
monotonous,  then  he  sought  his  father. 

"  Papa,  please  give  me  a  swing  in  that  little  boat,  just  as 
high  as  you  can,  please."  So  his  papa  put  him  in,  with  an 
other  little  boy  on  the  opposite  seat,  and  swung  them  gently. 

"Oh,  higher,  higher,  please!"  they  both  cried,  and  seeing 
they  stood  it  so  well,  he  swung  them  higher.  Still  they  cried: 
"  Higher!  higher!"  and  he  pushed  them  harder.  All  at  once 
Tommy  pitched  from  the  seat  and  struck  his  head  on  the  floor 
of  the  swing;  but  he  did  not  stop  there;  his  head  went  through 
the  boards,  his  body  following,  then  into  the  earth,  oh,  ever 
so  far. 

\V;is  he  never  going  to  stop  ?  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  gone 
a  thousand  miles,  and  yet  he  continued  going.  Suddenly  he 
landed  flat  on  his  back  on  a  stream  of  molten  fire. 

"Ah!  "he  thought,  "I'm  in  the  centre  w^the  earth,  and 
this  is  the  subterranean  fire  mamma  told  me  about,  that  makes 
the  volcanos.  Oh,  my!  I  wonder  if  this  is  a  stream  of  lava  on 
its  way  to  Vesuvius?"  He  remembered  how  ^iis  mother  had 
told  him  of  the  burying  of  Pompeii,  and  how  he  had  tried  to 
imitate  the  eruption  of  a  volcano,  by  climbing  on  the  ash  bar 
rel,  and  scattering  the  eontents  over  the  back-yard,  much  to 


22  NAUGHTY  TUMMY. 

the  annoyance  of  Bridget,  who  threatened  to  pull  his  ears,  but 
never  did,  as  his  mamma  had  explained  to  her  that  he  was  of 
a  scientific  turn  of  mind. 

How  hot  his  back  was,  and  how  fast  he  was  going1!  He 
passed  by  several  little  Brownies  at  work.  What  could  they 
be  digging  so  eagerly  ? 

"  Say,  Mr.  Brownies,"  he  called  out,  "if  you  are  digging- 
gold,  just  pitch  me  a  piece  or  two;  but  pitch  straight,  as  I'm 
traveling  pretty  lively/''  The  Brownies  laughed  like  so  many 
metal  bells  ringing,  and  sent  a  shower  of  gold  flying  after 
him;  but  as  several  pieces  hit  his  head,  it  was  no  great  pleas 
ure  after  all,  and  he  indulged  in  an  expression  he  had  learned 
on  the  streets,  but  would  not  for  anything  have  uttered  within 
reach  of  the  refined  ears  of  his  mamma. 

"  Oh,  cheese  it,  Brownies!"  and  stretching  out  his  hand  to 
defend  himself  he  caught  a  good-sized  lump  of  the  yellow 
metal,  and  quickly  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Chuckling  to  him 
self,  he  thought: 

"  This  is  worth  ever  so  many  cracks  on  the  head,  and  what 
a  lot  of  things  I  can  buy  with  it;  a  velocipede,  a  fiddle,  a 
drum,  a — ."  But  he  was  going  so  swift,  and  his  back  was 
getting  so  hot,  that  he  thought  no  more  of  toys.  »  Every  little 
while  he  passed  other  groups  of  Brownies  at  work,  but  was 
afraid  to  halloa  out  to  them,  yet  wanted  to  ever  so  much, 
thinking  they  might  be  digging  diamonds  or  rubies'.  Oh, 
dear!  he  was  nearing  the  volcano,  he  knew,  for  such  mean, 
ugly  gases  he  had  never  smelt  before.  Now  he  passed  rap 
idly  through  great  arched  caves  where  the  molten  fire  was 
bubbling  and  seething  as  in  a  cauldron;  then  he  went  up  an 
inclined  plane,  at  an  angle  of  he  didn't  know  how  many  de 
grees;  then  the  gases  were  worse  than  ever,  and  he  was 


TOMMY.  23 

whirled  round  and  round;  then  shot  up  five  thousand  four 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  straight  into  the  sky;  but  he  came  down 
so  rapidly,  and  with  such  a  thump,  that  he  opened  his  eyes  in 
terror,  and  there  was  his  mamma  and  papa  bending  over  him, 
looking  so  sorry  and  holding  a  nasty  bottle  of  hartshorn  to 
his  nose,  and  rubbing  his  back,  and  slapping  his  hands,  and: 

''  Halloa!  Tommy,  are  you  all  right  now?"  And  his  father 
took  him  in  his  arms,  and  his  mother  kissed  him;  and  he  told 
them  where  he  had  been,  and  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  nugget 
of  gold,  but  was  very  much  surprised  to  find  nothing  there, 
and  to  hear  that  lie  had  been  insensible.  The  rest  of  the  pic 
nic  passed  off  quietly;  but  he  did  not  get  over  his  disappoint 
ment  at  not  finding  the  gold,  it  had  all  been  so  real. 

Not  many  days  after  the  picnic,  he  was  flying  his  kite;  a 
beautiful  affair,  he  thought,  that  his  mother  had  made  for 
him,  with  a  'big  red  rose  painted  in  the  center,  and  a  fierce- 
looking  eagle  at  the  top,  and  little  pictures  all  around.  His 
mother  had  told  him  all  about  Benjamin  Franklin,  and  he 
thought,  perhaps,  if  he  got  on  the  barn  the  kite  would  be  so 
much  higher,  that  he  might  touch  off  a  little  cloud  all  by  him 
self. 

"And  become  as-,  great  a  fellow  as  old  Ben!"  he  said,  half 
sarcastically,  as  he  climbed  with  great  difficulty  to  the  roof  of 
the  barn,  with  the  string  of  the  kite  held  by  his  teeth!  How 
nice  it  was  up  there!  He  could  see  so  far,  and  the  sun  was 
so  bright,  and  the  kite  went  so  high!  But  looking  at  it,  he 
forgot  where  he  was,  backed  off  the  edge  of  the  roof  and  fell 
plump  into  the  horse-trough!  It  was  full  of  water,  but  he 
didn't  stop  there,  but  went  clear  through  horse-trough,  earth 
and  everything,  till  he  came  out  the  other  side  of  the  world 
into  the  Pacific  Ocean. 


24  NAUGHTY  TOMMY. 

"  Oil,  good  gracious!  now  I  shall  get  drowned! "  lie  thought, 
"  and  what  will  mamma  say?"  But  it  was  the  time  of  the 
great  tidal  wave,  and  in  a  moment  he  found  himself  swashing 
along  at  a  tremendous  rate;  and  how  the  fishes  looked  at  him! 
They  frightened  him  with  their  cold  expressionless  eyes.  A 
harmless  little  sword-fish  came  too  near,  and  Tommy  thought 
his  leg  was  sawed  off;  he  hastily  felt  of  it,  but  all  was  right  5 
only  his  boot  was  rasped  nearly  through.  Then  the  devil-fish 
stretched  out  his  long  arms  and  said: 

"  Come,  little  earth  boy,  come  with  me,"  and  smiled  in  such 
an  insinuating  way,  that  Tommy  felt  his  hair  stand  011  end, 
and  his  flesh  creep,  yet  he  managed  to  say: 

"No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Devil-fish!"  he  thought  it  the  best 
policy  to  be  polite;  "  I'm  on  a  journey  and  can't  stop."  Then 
he  rushed  over  great  beds  of  coral,  and  how  they  did  scratch 
his  back. 

"  I  don't  see  what  mamma  wants  to  read  '  The  Wonders  of 
the  Deep'  for;  I  think  they  are  horrible.  I'll  tell  her  all 
about  them  real,  when  I  get  home."  Then  it  suddenly  oc 
curred  to  him  he  might  never  get  home  again,  and  it  gave 
him  a  cold  shiver,  colder  even  than  the  water. 

"  Mamma  '11  call '  Tommy !  Tommy ! '  and  when  Pdon't  come, 
then  papa  '11  go  and  look  for  me,  and  when  he  doesn't  find 
me,  he'll  get  the  bell  man  to  cry:  '  Oh,  yes!  oh,  yes!  little  boy 
lost ! ' '  Then  he  felt  like  crying,  to  think  how  badly  mamma 
and  papa  would  feel.  Now  he  passed  through  a  school  of  por 
poises,  but  they  appeared  more  frightened  at  seeing  such  a 
strange  fish  as  he,  than  he  at  seeing  them. 

"  Pshaw!  I  don't  believe  they  are  somebody's  brothers,  or 
they  would  not  have  run  away  so." 

But  looking  up  he  saw  in  the  distance  an  island,  and  tower- 


NAUGHTY  TOMMY.  25 

ing  above  it.  a  volcano.  "Oh,  good  gracious!  now  I  am  in 
l>ud  luck,  for  I  really  believe  that  is  the  Sandwich  Island, 
where  mamma  told  me  they  ate  Captain  Cook — wonder  if  they 
ate  him  because  of  his  name  ?  I  do  wish  a  whale  would  swal 
low  me — a  friendly  whale — as  he  did  Jonah;  then  I  would  have 
a  chance  of  being  thrown  up  somewhere;  but  if  the  savages 
over  there  cook  and  eat  me,  I  stand  no  chance  of  being  gath 
ered  up  again.  Oh,  dear!  I  wish  a  whale  would  come!"  By 
this  time  he  was  swept  on  to  the  shore  of  those  islands  he  so 
dreaded,  but  the  big  wave,  receding,  threw  him  clear  down  the 
throat  of  an  advancing  whale.  How  glad  he  was! 

"  It's  fortunate  a  whale  has  no  teeth  except  those  two  he 
don't  use,  or  he  might  have  bitten  me  in  two;  but  here  I  am 
in  a  safe  place  and  quite  warm."  Then  he  examined  the 
whale's  internal  arrangements  and  where  the  blubber  was  they 
made  oil  out  of,  and  what  they  called  little  boys  when  they 
cried  too  much. 

"  And  where  are  the  bones  they  make  umbrellas  aiic^  cor 
sets  of,  especially  that  front  piece  that  mamma  uses  some 
times  on  my — back  ?  "  But  the  whale  feeling  such  a  queer  dis 
turbance,  turned  about  and  caught  the  tidal  wave  as  it  was 
rushing  back  to  the  Pacific  Slope,  and  in  a  short  time  Tommy 
could  see  through  the  whale's  open  mouth  the  beautiful  Golden 
Gate. 

"  Now  I  shall  see  California,  that  I've  heard  so  much  about. 
I  hope  we'll  go  down  a  mine,  so  that  I  can  dig  some  gold;  I'd 
give  mamma  a  piece  for  Christmas."  Then  they  passed  Seal 
Rock,  and  Tommy  laughed  with  delight  at  the  gambols  of  the 
lively  seals. 

"I'd  like  to  catch  one,  and  put  it  under  mamma's  pillow 
Christmas  Eve,  for  her  to  make  into  a  sack,"  he  thought;  but 


26  NAUGHTY  TOMMY. 

here  the  whale  closed  his  mouth  and  dashed  with  the  big  wave 
up  an  elegant  street,  up,  up  into  a  room  on  the  second  floor, 
and  wishing  to  relieve  his  domestic  economy  of  the  disagree 
able  disturbance,  opened  his  mouth  wide,  contracted  his  in 
ternal  muscles,  and  Tommy  was  landed  on  the  floor  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd  of  excited  women. 

"  I  want  fifty  Panther!"  one  shouted. 

"  I'll  take  one  hundred  Leopard!"  screamed  another. 

"  Forty  Lady  Bryan?"  halloed  a  third.  Drops  of  perspira 
tion  stood  011  Tommy's  noble  brow. 

"Where  am  I?  Are  these  Comanche  female  Indians,  or 
Sioux,  or  what,  that  they  want  those  ferocious  animals,  and 
are  they  going  to  eat  those  forty  poor  ladies !  "Ugh !  I  wish  I 
was  home." 

But  here  arose  such  a  hubbub  that  the  head  lady,  who  had 
a  little  wooden  hammer  in  her  hand,  mistook  that  Websteriaii 
head  for  the  table,  and  shouting:  "Order!  order!  ladies!" 
gave  it  several  sharp  raps,  and  Tommy  opened  his  eyes  to  find 
William,  the  coachman,  rolling  him  on  the  grass,  and  slap 
ping  his  back,  and  pressing  his  lungs,  and  doing  all  he  could 
to  bring  him  to.  It  all  flashed  on  his  mind  at  once. 

"Oh,  please,  William,  don't  tell  mamma;  it'll  frighten  her 
so."  Then  he  told  him  of  the  adventures  he  had  had,  and 
how  they  were  most  as  good  as  real. 

When  he  saw  his  mother  he  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck, 
and  was  unusually  affectionate. 

"Oh,  dear  mamma!  I  wish  I  could  have  got  you  a  seal." 

"A  \vhat?"  she  asked. 

"Oh!  ah!  nothing,"  he  replied,  remembering  himself .  But 
every  little  while  he  would  forget  and  speak  of  the  devil-fish, 
and  the  insides  of  a  whale,  and  how  the  women  wanted  to  buy 


NAUGHTY  TOMMY.  27 

panthers,  till  his  mother  thought   something  was  the  matter 
with  him. 

''Put  out  vour  tongue,  Tommy.  I'm  afraid  YOU  haYe  a 
fever,  and  that  I  must  send  for  a  doctor.'' 

But  this  meant  medicine,  perhaps  bitter  medicine,  so  Tom 
my  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  from  the  fall  into  the  horse- 
trough  to  the  raps  011  his  head  by  the  woman  with  the  ham 
mer.  Of  course  his  mother  counseled  him  about  being  more 
careful  and  all  that,  and  of  course  he  said  he  would,  or  at 
least  he  would  try. 

One  day,  some  time  after  all  this  happened,  Tommy's  father 
had  company,  and  the  wine  was  set  on  the  table;  the  gentle 
men  were  good  natured  and  lively,  and  Tommy  listened  in 
silence  to  the  funny  anecdotes  and  adventures  they  related; 
and  as  the  wine  diminished,  their  liveliness  increased,  and  soon 
Tommy  was  laughing  as  appreciatively  as  the  rest  of  them. 
He  had  never  seen  his  father  so  funny  before,  and  when  the 
champagne  was  opened,  that  gentleman  made  a  speech^  ad 
dressing  the  decanter  as  "  Mr.  President."  It. was  the  droll 
est  speech  that  ever  was  heard,  and  Tommy  laughed  till  he 
cried,  and  the  gentlemen  applauded  with  hands  and  feet,  then 
lit  their  cigars  and  strolled  into  the  garden;  but  Tommy  re 
mained  in  the  room  and  ruminated. 

"  Now,  if  what's  in  those  bottles  makes  papa  so  funny,  what 
would  it  do  to  me?"  Then  he  sipped  the  "  heel  taps"  from 
all  the  glasses,  and  thought  it  wasn't  so  very  nice,  and  won 
dered  why  the  gentlemen  thought  so  much  about  champagne 
suppers;  then  he  concluded  he'd  try  the  contents  of  the  de 
canter. 

"Ah!  this  is  nice  and  sweet;  I  rather  like  it;"  and  he  took 
a  long  sip;  this  made  him  feel  so  good  that  he  took  another, 
then  another. 


28  NAUGHTY  TOMMY. 

"How  queer  my  head  feels;  it's — it's  swimming.  Good 
ness  sow  thitli  room — room — movthes!  Ah!  thith  is  jolty!" 
and  he  halloed  and  laughed,  and  almost  danced  a  jig;  then  he 
went  to  the  decanter  again,  and  tipped  it,  and  tipped  it,  till 
he  had  to  fall  on  his  knees  to  get  any  of  its  contents.  At  last 
he  tipped  the  decanter  so  far  that  his  head  went  into  it,  and 
his  body  followed;  then  he  wondered  how  that  small  bottle 
could  hold  such  a  large  boy.  He  was  floating  in  the  wine  like 
a  little  fish,  when  he  suddenly  caught  sight  of  himself  re 
flected  in  the  glass  of  the  decanter.  Oh,  horror!  he  was 
changed  into  a  little  imp  or  devil !  There  were  two  tiny  horns 
growing  out  of  his  head,  and  his  feet  were  hoofs  and  the  nails 
of  his  hands  claws. 

"  Now  what  will  mamma  say?  She  can't  call  '  come  here, 
little  Tommy/  any  more,  but  '  come,  you  little  devil,'  like 
Mrs.  Jones  calls  her  boy.  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  I  wish  I  had 
remembered,  '  Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not/  What  an 
example  I'll  be  to  all  bad  boys!  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they 
preserved  me  in  whisky  and  showed  me  at  Sunday  school;  and 
Christmas  is  to-morrow,  and  we're  to  have  a  tree,  and  papa 
promised  me  a  velocipede,  and  mamma  a — .  But  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  play  any  more,  for  the  boys  would  be  scared  of  me, 
arid  run  away.  Oh,  clear!  oh,  dear!  I  wish  I  had  been  a  good 
boy." 

Then  he  wondered  why  the  wine  didn't  drown  him,  and  if  he 
made  ever  so  many  promises  to  himself  of  reformation,  if  he 
would  return  to  his  natural  shape;  so  he  made  the  promises 
and  waited;  but  still  a  little  imp  grinned  and  mouthed  at  him 
from  the  glass,  and  he  almost  wished  he  was  dead  and  in  his 
grave. 

The  gentlemen  returned,  and  his  father  asked  them  to  join 


XAr<;iiTY  TOMMY.  29 

him  in  a  glass  of  wine.  Oh,  how  Tommy  clung,  with  horns 
and  hoofs,  to  the  side  of  the  decanter,  for  fear  some  one  would 
pour  him  out  and  swallow  him.  But  after  all  the  gentlemen 
were  helped,  his  father  emptied  the  decanter  into  his  glass. 

"  Here's  how!"  they  all  said,  and  the  glasses  were  raised; 
but  Tommy  gave  such  a  terrific  shriek  as  his  father's  teeth 
scratched  his  back,  that  he  dropped  him  on  the  floor  in  terror, 
the  glass  and  wine  falling  on  him  and  cutting  him  so  bad,  that 
he  halloed: 

"  Oh,  mamma!  mamma!.  I'm  nearly  killed!"  and  rubbing  his 
eyes  he  looked  around  wildly;  but  there  were  all  the  gentle 
men  laughing  at  him,  and  one  of  them  said: 

"Hallo!  Tommy,  you're  drunk,  you  little  rascal." 

Then  papa  examined  the  decanter  and  found  it  empty;  then 
he  looked  severe  at  Tommy,  and  Avas  about  to  order  him  to 
bed,  when  the  gentlemen  interceded  for  him,  and  Tommy 
said  : 

"Don't  be  afraid,  papa;  I  don't  touch  nasty  wine  any  more." 
Then  he  related  all  he  had  suffered,  and  involuntarily  felt  his 
head,  but  that  Websterian  organ  was  the  same  as  ever. 

His  father  thought  that  perhaps  after  all  it  was  a  good  les 
son,  and  Tommy  couldn't  see  anything  funny  in  what  was  said 
the  rest  of  that  day,  so  left  the  parlor  in  disgust  and  joined  his 
mamma,  who  would  not  take  a  milk-punch  even  on  Christmas 
day;  and  Tommy  tried  not  to  be  naughty  any  more. 


THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BUSH. 


NCE  upon  a  time,  in  the  early  spring,  the  trees  were 
all  out  in  little  green  leaves,  and  the  grass  had 
bladed  so  green  and  slender  that  they  looked  like 
little  fairy  lances;  the  song  of  the  birds  was  joyous,  and  every 
thing  seemed  living  in  perfect  happiness.  The  leaves  and 
grass  drank  the  dew  at  night;  it  supplied  their  simple  wants, 
and  that  contented  them. 

But  now  the  heat  grew  stronger  and  baked  the  earth,  so 
that  the  dew  could  not  feed  the  grass  and  leaves,  as  it  had 
done  before;  so  they  began  to  murmur;  still  the  sun  grew  hot 
ter  and  hotter. 

"Oh!  if  it  would  only  rain!"  cried  the  young  leaves. 

"  Oh!  yes,"  said  the  grass. 

But  the  sky  was  as  blue  and  bright  as  a  lady's  eye. 

"  See,  how  our  beautiful  dresses  are  fading,"  murmured  the 
leaves,  "  all  for  the  want  of  a  little  paltry  rain." 

"  It's  no  use  to  complain,  dear  sisters,  the  rain  will  not  come 
any  sooner  for  it,"  said  one  of  last  year's  leaves,  that  still 
clung  to  the  top  of  the  tree;  it  was  scarcely  a  leaf,  though, 
but  a  little  two-winged  seed-pod. 

"  How  she  talks,  the  old  maid! "  snapped  one  of  the  green 
est  and  prettiest  of  the  leaves.  "  Of  course  the  rain  wouldn't 
brighten  her  coat,  or  make  her  chances  better,  so  she  can  sit 
calm  and  content,  and  watch  our  beauty  fade." 


THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BUSH.  31 

Indeed,  dear  sisters,  I  would  give  my  life  to  cause  the 
rain  to  come,  or  to  help  YOU  in  your  trouble." 

ilks,  humph!     Actions  are  what  we  want;  talk,  talk, 
ti  not  help  distress/' 
"  Tell  me,  then,  what  shall  I  do?" 

Thry  ajl  laughed  scornfully,  saying,  « If  we  knew,  we  could 
do  it  ourselves." 

But  the  poor  little  old  maid  saw  away  off  in  the  east  a  speck 
of  u  cloud. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  loosen  myself  from  the  tree  I  would 

•id  reach   the   cloud,  and  I  would  beg-  it  so  pitifully  to 

•I  save  you  all."     She  struggled  and  twisted  in  vain. 

hotter  and  hotter,  and  the  leaves  curled  and  cracked 

ed.     But  a  little  breeze  at  last  sprung  up,  and  with 

)  eat  effort   she  flew   away,  borne   along  011  its  friendly 

oar  cloud,"  she   cried,    "will  you  not   come  to  the 
Little  leaves,  who  are  fading  and  dying   for  lack  of  a 
of  your  kindly  tears  ?  " 
"I  would  willingly,  if  a  breeze   would  only  take  me  that 

>oked  appealiiigiy  at  the  breeze. 

"  I  will  take  you  a  little  higher  in  the  air,  and  there  you  will 
find  one  of  my  brothers  going  west  with  all  speed;  he  will  take 
you  willingly."  And  in  a  moment  more  the  cloud  and  the  leaf 
were  tlyino-  along  toward  the  moaning  tree  and  the  poor 
parched  earth. 

She  was  so  eager  to  tell  her  sisters  the  good  news  that  she 
went  011  the  very  edge  of  the  breeze,  and  came  with  such  force 
that  instead  of  alighting  at  her  place,  on  top  of  the  tree,  she 
was  carried  to  the  lowest  branch  and  thrown  into  a  deep  knot 
hole,  without  a  sister  near  to  hear  or  help  her. 


32  THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BUSH. 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!"  she  cried,  "must  I  be  separated 
forever  from  my  companions,  and  be  shut  up  in  this  little 
ugly  hole,  and  not  even  see  the  good  my  errand  accom 
plishes  ! " 

"Do  not  murmur,"  said  a  soft  voice  beneath  her;  "  did  y.m 
not  say  that  you  would  willingly  give  your  life  to  save  the 
others?" 

"  Yes;  but  this  is  such  an  ignoble  way." 

"  O  ho;  then  you  did  the  good  act  for  praise,  and  not  for 
goodness  sake  ?  "  But  before  she  could  reply  the  rain  came 
down  in  torrents,  and  she  spluttered  and  gasped  as  the  water 
filled  her  little  house;  but  she  soon  arose  to  the  top,  and  then 
fell  to  the  earth  with  the  overflowing  water.  She  thought  of 
her  whole  life,  during  the  short  moment  of  her  fall,  and  that 
in  a  moment  more  she  would  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  ugly  old 
thorn-bush  just  beneath;  but  the  wind  took  her  a  little  to  the 
side,  and  she  was  carried  by  the  water  into  the  brook.  As  she 
rushed  along  she  met  hideous  great  monsters,  who  dived  their 
big  flat  beaks  at  her,  and  flapped  their  enormous  wings,  and 
made  such  a  terrible  noise  with  their  "  quack,  quack,"  that 
she  thought  they  were  wild.  So  they  were,  the  poor  ducks, 
with  joy.  Then  the  rain  came  slower,  and  the  village  boys 
and  girls  ran  out,  and  with  their  bare  fat  legs  splashed  and 
danced  in  the  running  water.  The  rain  seemed  to  have  brought 
life  and  joy;  the  whole  village  was  astir. 

Soon  our  two-winged  messenger  was  caught  by  a  chubby 
brown  hand,  and  the  owner  cried,  "See!  see!  my  pretty 
boat!"  and  tying  a  string  around  the  delicate  wings,  pulled 
her  violently  against  the  stream;  this  treatment  and  the  wild 
shouts  of  merriment  frightened  her  nearly  to  death. 

"  Oh!  here's  a  prettier  one!"   cried  the  child;  "  see,  this  old 


THK  LKAF  .VXD  Tin-  nrsii.  33 

is  all  broken, "  and  he  cast  it  contemptuously  hack  into 
the  water.  How  ashamed  she  felt,  thus  torn  and  despised; 
but  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  water  began  to  recede,  so 
she  was  carried  back  to  her  tree  and  thrown  into  a  hole  at  the 
foot  of  the  ugly  thorn-bush.  Hearing  her  moan  and  cry,  the 
old  thorn-bush  looked  at  her  pityingly  and  said: 

"Don't  weep,  and  think  how  ill  your  goodness  has  been  re 
warded;  we  often  feel  so  in  this  world,  but  there  is  a  future 
even  for  you.  Let  me  cover  your  poor  shivering  body  with  a 
little  of  this  kind  earth;  you  will  not  regret  it." 

But  she  sobbed  so  that  she  could  not  reply;  then,  as  the 
wind  stirred  him,  he  scratched  the  earth  with  his  thorns,  and 
covered  her  from  the  scornful  glances  and  the  painful  pity  of 
the  now  bright  leaves. 

"  Oh!  it  is  so  dark  and  cold  here,"  she  murmured  all  night 
long,  and  the  bush  tried  to  comfort  her;  but  the  same  moan 
came  from  the  earth  for  many  days,  still  the  bush  would  say: 

"  Have  patience,  little  one;  your  reward  will  soon  come." 

One  morning,  when  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  the  voice 
came  up: 

11  It  is  warmer  now,  and  I  feel  no  pain."  The  old  bush  was 
glad. 

Another  day  she  said,  "  I  feel  so  strangely,  and  can  almost 
see  the  light!"  And  the  next  morning  when  the  old  bush 
awoke,  two  tiny  green  leaves  had  shot  up  from  the  earth,  and 
then  he  greeted  her,  "  See  now  how  pretty  you  are;  you  will 
become  a  beautiful  tree,  and  birds  will  sing  among  your  leaves, 
and  under  your  branches  lovers  will  sigh/'  And* she  looked,' 
and  was  so  happy.  "  Oh,  thank  you,  kind  bush;  and  you  are 
not  so  ugly  as  you  used  to  be." 

The  old  bush  smiled,  and  the  young  tree  grew.  Soon  she 
3 


34  THE  LEAF  AND  THE  BUSH. 

attracted  the  attention  of  her  sisters.  "Oh!  what  a  beauti 
ful  creature !"  they  cried.  "Mamma,  shall  we  ever  be  like 
her  ?  "  But  the  old  tree  shook  her  head.  Then  envy  filled 
their  breasts,  and  they  mocked  and  taunted  the  whole  day 
long.  But  the  young  tree  grew  so  straight  and  tall  and  slen 
der,  that  she  heeded  them  not.  When  the  rain  came  and  beat 
down  the  poor  bush,  for  he  was  old  and  brittle,  she  said  to 
him  : 

"  My  kind  friend,  throw  your  arms  around  my  strong  body, 
and  I  will  protect  you  from  the  wind  and  rain." 

But  the  bush  said  sadly:  "Ah,  little  one,  my  ugly  thorns 
would  tear  your  pretty  skin,  and  stop  your  beautiful  growth. 
I  have  but  a  little  wljile  to  live;  it  matters  not." 

But  when  some  boys  passed  by,  and  kicked  and  broke  his 
branches,  and  trampled  on  his  thorns— the  thorns  that  had 
been  so  kind  to  her — again  she  said: 

"  Oh!  lean  on  me.     My  heart  aches  to  see  you  suffer  so." 

"  Not  yet;  not  yet,"  it  replied,  faintly. 

"  Still  the  young  tree  grew.  One  day  a  horse  came  tramp 
ling  by,  and  crushed  the  poor  bush  clear  down  to  the  earth. 

"Oh!  now  let  me  help  you,"  cried  the  tree,  and  bent  down 
her  beautiful  arms  to  raise  him;  but  she  had  grown  so  high 
that  the  bush  was  far  beneath  her,  and  she  could  not  even 
touch  his  poor,  crushed  branches. 

"  Too  late!  too  late!"  he  murmured,  and  he  spoke  no  more. 

So  when  the  Autumn  came,  she  covered  him  with  red  and 
golden  glory,  and  showered  his  grave  with  dewy  tears,  and 
often  murmured,  as  the  wind  swept  through  her  leaves: 

"Dear  friend!  dear  friend!  " 


THE  BOY  WHO  HAD  HIS  WISHES  GRANTED. 

. 

o/^V'  ^ 

;   fc$  upon   a    time   tliere   lived   a   little    b°y   named 

^     Frankie.     He  was  a  nice  little  boy,  and  when  he  was 

S^     in  an  obliging*  temper  would  bring  the  coal,  gather 

chips,  or  help  wash  the  dishes;  and  when  he  wasn't  in  an 

obliging  temper,  he  wasn't  quite  such  a  nice  little  boy.     One 

day  his  mother  said : 

"  Frankie,  I  want  you  to  wash  the  dishes  this  morning,  and 

I'll  wipe  them." 

"I  don't  want  to  do  it  to-day." 
"  Oh,  come,  be  a  good  boy  and  help  mamma." 
"  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  to;  I  wasn't  born  to  work." 
"No?     You'll  find  you'll  have  to  do  so  in  this  world;  so 
no  more,  but  begin  the  dishes."     She  poured  the  water 

on  them  just  hot  enough  to  wash  them  clean,  without  burning 

his  hands. 

11  TJmph!  "  and  he  slapped  his  fingers  into  the  water,  splash 
ing  his  mother's  face,  and  wetting  his  shirt.  "I  wish  the 
water  was  so  hot  I  couldn't  wash  them  at  all." 

How  quickly  he  jerked  his  hands  out  of  the  dish-pan,  and 
set  up  a  shriek  like  a  wild  Comanche  Indian. 

"  Oh !  oh !  oh !  Look !  Fire !  fire !  fire !  "  and  he  held  up  his 
hands,  fairly  dancing  with  pain.  Tliere  were  ten  little  red 
balls  of  misery.  His  mother  quickly  did  them  up  in  bags  of 
flour,  he  screaming  "fire!  fire!"  all  the  time,  in  such  a  ter- 


36  THE  BOY  WHO  HAD 

ribly  loud  voice  that  soon  all  the  fire  bells  in  the  city  were 
ringing  furiously,  and  the  engines  came  running  up  the  street, 
and  hearing  the  terrible  cries,  didn't  wait  to  see  the  smoke, 
but  turned  the  water  on,  and  drenched  poor  Fraiikie  to  the 
skin,  and  in  a  moment  more  would  have  flooded  the  house, 
but  his  mother  rushed  to  the  door,  and  waving  her  arms  wildly, 
shouted  for  them  to  stop,  as  it  was  only  her  little  boy  who 
had  burnt  his  fingers.* 

The  gallant  b'hoys—  it  was  before  they  used   steamers- 
didii't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  be  angry,  but  soon  concluded 
it  was  rather  funny  than  otherwise,  so  went  back  laughing 
and  shouting  for  the  boy  with  the  burnt  fingers. 

It  was  weeks  before  Fraiikie's  hands  got  well,  and  he  ac 
cepted  the  indulgence  of  lying  in  bed  long,  long  after  break 
fast,  with  a  great  deal  of  lazy  pleasure. 

When  he  was  quite  well,  his  mother  thought  it  was  time  to 
break  up  this  indolent  habit,  so  after  coaxing  him  for  some 
time,  one  morning  she  spoke  quite  sharply,  and  said  he  must 
get  up,  or  have  110  breakfast., 

"  Briiig?  it  up  here,  can't  you?  it  isn't  much  trouble." 
"No;  come  down  or  go  without." 

"  You  won't  let  me  do  the  least  thing.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  1 
couldn't  get  up." 

"Very  well;  come  down  when  you  are  tired  of  being  a  slug 
a-bed;';aiid  his  mother  left  the  room,   shutting  the   door. 
How  quiet  the  house  was  all  morning;  no  Fraiikie  came  down 
or  called  "  mamma,"     At  last  she  was  frightened,  thinking  he 
was  ill,  or  worse,  so  she  hurried  up  stairs  and  rushed  into  the 


room. 


thought  it  was  our  house  on  fire. 


HIS  WISHES  GRANTED.  37 

"  Oh,  I  can't  get  up,  and  I've  tried  ever  so  hard,"  he  whined. 
"  "What  is  the  matter  with  me?" 

She  took  him  "by  the  hand  to  help  him  up,  but  he  rolled  on  to 
his  side,  and  when  she  took  his  other  hand,  he  rolled  back 
again;  but  she  could  not  raise  him  up.  She  called  the  gar 
dener,  and  they  both  pulled,  but  in  vain;  then  she  fetched  a 
couple  of  neighbors,  with  the  same  result;  then  one  more 
dropped  in  and  took  his  head,  while  the  rest  took  his  arms 
and  legs,  and  they  pulled  till  he  screamed  with  the  pain. 

"Go  away,  oh,  go  away!  You're  pulling  me  to  pieces!  I 
don't  want  to  ever  see  your  faces  any  more.  You're  worse  than 
wild  Injuns,  so  you  are!"  Then  he  hid  his  face  in  the  bed 
clothes,  and  held  his  legs  and  arms  tight  to  his  body,  and  so 
staid  till  they  left  him,  wondering  at  his  miraculous  strength 
and  advising  his  mother  to  send  him  to  Baruum. 

His  mother  did  not  know  what  to  do,  but  thought,  as  boys 
were  very  fond  of  eating,  to  let  him  go  hungry  till  he  came  for 
his  meals  would  be  the  easiest  way  to  get  him  up.  But,  as 
the  day  passed  and  he  did  not  make  his  appearance,  his  mother 
went  for  the  doctor,  thinking  he  really  must  be  ill.  He  was  a 
good-natured  man,  with  a  pleasant  smile.  He  didn't  wear 
spectacles  and  look  learned,  and  so  frighten  the  little  fellows, 
but  spoke  kindly  and  felt  his  pulse,  looked  at  his  tongue  and 
sounded  his  chest. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  the  matter  with  him,  madam! " 

"  But  he  c.-m't  get  up,  he  tells  me,  although  he  tries  to  ever 
so  much." 

"Ah!  anything  the  matter  with  his  legs?"  and  the  doctor 
felt  his  legs,  arms  and  spine,  but  shook  his  head;  and  beckon 
ing  his  mother  out  of  the  room,  he  said: 

"  Nothing  ails  the  boy  but  laziness;  so  don't  go  near  him  or 


38  THE  BOY  WHO  HAD 

give  him  anything  to  eat  till  he  gets  up,  drapes  himself  and 
conies  down  stairs.     Good  day,  madam!" 

So  she  took  his  advice,  and  did  not  go  near  him  for  two  days, 
thinking  how  stubborn  he  was,  and  wondering  where  he  could 
get  it  from;  it  must  be  from  his  father,  as  she  certainly  was 
the  most  easily  persuaded  creature  in  the  world!  At  the  end 
of  the  second  day,  he  halloed  to  her  so  lustily  that  she  heard 
him  through  closed  doors  and  all. 

"  Oh!  I'm  just  starving!     How  can  you  be  so  cruel?" 

"  Then  why  don't  you  get  up  ?  " 

"  I  can't,  I  tell  you! "  So  again  she  left  the  room;  but  in  an 
hour  or  two  his  cries  again  reached  her.  So  the  ejector  was 
brought  the  second  time.  He  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  pro 
voked  at  first,  .but  when  she  told  'him  he  had  not  got  up,  or 
eaten  anything  for  over  two  days,  he  looked  serious,  gave  him 
some  bitter  medicine,  and  ordered  him  to  be  fed  on  gruel. 
The  first  mouthful  disgusted  Erankie,  and  he  spit  it  out,  say 
ing: 

"Ugh!  the  nasty  stuff;"  but  finding  he  could  get  nothing 
else,  he  eagerly  ate  a  bowlful.  His  mother  felt  so  sorry  for 
him  that  she  bought  him  a  beautiful  picture-book,  and  a  bal 
loon,  and  a  box  of  toys,  and,  when  the  doctor  would  let  her, 
she  gave  him  a  little  jam,  and  other  delicacies;  but  with  all 
this,  Frankie  got  very  thin.  One  day  when  he  was  alone,  and 
so  tired  of  books,  toys,  and  balloon,  he  said: 

"  Oh,  dear!  I  am  so  tired  of  lying  in  bed.  I  wish  I  could 
get  up." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  made  another  effort,  and  was  on  the 
floor  before  you  could  say  "  Jack  Robinson."  flow  surprised 
his  mother  was!  She  kissed  him,  and  made  such  a  fuss  over 
him,  that  he  felt  quite  proud  and  important.  He  wandered 


HIS  WISHKS  (JliANTED.  39 

around  the  house,  and  everything  seemed  new  to  him.  At  last 
he  came  to  the  looking-glass,  and,  looking  in,  he  said: 

••  Well,  I  am  a  little  thin;  I  must  have  been  very  sick.  If 
mamma  gives  me  so  many  toys  and  nice  things  to  eat  because 
I  look  this  bad,  wouldn't  she  give  me  lots  if  I  was  worse?" 

Turning  from  the  glass,  he  said: 

"  I  wish  I  was  just  as  thin  as  a  skeleton! " 

Then  he  went  to  his  mother  to  ask  her  for  some  cake.  As 
soon  as  she  saw  him  she  uttered  a  shriek  and  ran  out  of  the 
house. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  mamma?"  he  said,  following 
after  her;  but  the  people  rushed  away  at  his  approach,  scream 
ing  and  crying,  and  white  with  terror. 

"  Are  they  crazy,"  he  said,  half  vexed  and  half  angry,  "  to 
make  such  a  fuss  because  a  fellow's  a  little  thin  ?  "  but  when 
they  cried  "  Ghost!  ghost! "  he  too  began  to  feel  a  little  queer, 
and  to  look  around;  but  seeing  nothing,  he  soon  went  home, 
for  it  was  no  fun  to  be  on  the  street  with  no  one  to  play  with. 
After  a  little  his  mother  returned. 

"Oh,  my  poor  boy!  my  poor  boy!  what  has  happened  to 
you?" 

11  Why,  nothing;  I'm  beginning  to  feel  ever  so  good!" 

"Oh,  dear!  oh, .poor  thing! "  was  all  she  could  say. 

"  Then,  what  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked,  going  to  the  looking- 
glass  again;  but  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  his  face,  he 
gave  a  yell  and  a  jump,  and  turned  a  back  somersault,  and  so 
continued  turning  till  his  feet  struck  the  wall,  and  left  him 
standing  on  Jiis  head  in  the  corner!  His  mother  put  him  to 
bed,  and  then  commenced  the  gruel  and  medicine  again,  and 
in  a  week,  what  a  tired,  miserable  boy,  was  Frankie!  So  one 
clay  he  stole  out  of  the  house,  determined  he'd  stay  in  bed  no 


40  THE  BOY  WHO   HAD 

longer;  but  when  people  again  fled  from  him,  he  felt  as  if  he 
hail  been  drawn  through  a  knot-hole. 

"Oh!  dear!  I  wish  I  was  so  fat  that  it  would  burst  the 
clothes  off  my  back!  " 

Bang!  bang!  bang!  Was  it  a  miniature  Fourth  of  July? 
One  button  struck  his  nose,  another  nearly  knocked  a  tooth 
out,  and  he  was  about  calling  for  the  police,  thinking  some 
boys  were  firing  stones  at  him,  when  the  cold  air  penetrating 
to  his  skin,  showed  him  what  was  the  matter.  Oh!  horror! 
His  clothes  were  falling  in  pieces  from  his  body,  and  had  he 
not  grasped  the  fragments  around  him,  and  rushed  home,  he 
would,  have  been  a  male  (lodiva,  without  the  horse. 

His  mother  was  standing  at  her  door,  and  as  he  tried  to  rush 
past  her,  she  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"You  shameless,  ragged  boy!  what  do  you  want  in  my 
house  ? " 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  mamma?  " 

She  knew  the  voice,  but  was  so  amazed  that  she  could  hardly 
speak.  "  You've,  you've  been  eating  something,  and  are  all 
swelled  up.  Oh!  dear!  go  to  bed  till  I  alter  your  clothes  to 
fit  you." 

As  soon  as  he  had  his  new  clothes  made,  all  the  neighbors 
came  to  see  him,  and  brought  him  all  sorts  of  presents,  and 
advised  his  mother  to  rent  him  to  a  circus.  The  idea  pleased 
Frankie  very  much,  for  what  boy  ever  lived  who  did  not  wish 
at  some  time  of  his  life  to  become  a  clown  or  rider  in  a  circus. 
After  his  mother  had  been  bored  with  twenty  different  propo 
sitions  daily  for  a  week,  and  Frankie  had  begged  as  often,  she 
consented  to  his  going  for  a  short  time,  at  twenty  dollars  a 
week,  part  in  advance;  this  she  put  in  the  bank,  and  .gave  him 
the  bookselling  him  it  was  the  beginning  of  his  fortune.  He 


HIS  WISHES  GRANTED.  41 

went  away  with  the  man  in  the  fine  new  suit,  trimmed  with 
gold  lace,  feeling  very  proud  and  happy. 

For  a  few  days  he  enjoyed  sitting  on  a  platform  and  listen 
ing  to  the  comments  of  the  people;  besides  they  gaye  him  many 
little  things  that  pleased  him  vastly,  but  he  soon  tired  of  not 
being  allowed  to  play  in  the  dirt,  and  whoop  and  hallo,  like 
he  did  in  his  own  yard.  So  he  hoped  for  a  few  clays  more, 
then  he  said  to  himself,  he  wished  he  wasn't  so  fat,  then  the 
circus  wouldn't  want  him  at  all.  A  few  minutes  afterward  the 
proprietor  came  along,  and  seeing  no  crowd  around  him,  looked 
up,  and  seeing  only  an  ordinary  boy  in  his  place,  and  dressed 
like  his  fat  curiosity,  he  ordered  him  out  of  the  tent,  and  said 
he'd  have  him  arrested  if  he  came  there  dressed  up  to  deceive 
people;  then  he  went  to  hunt  up  his  fat  boy.  But  poor 
Frankie  didn't  know  what  to  do.  After  walking  awhile,  he 
found  he  was  in  the  town  where  he  lived — they  traveled  at 
night,  so  he  did  not  know  it  before.  How  joyfully  he  inquired 
his  way  home,  and  rushed  into  his  mother's  arms! 

"Ah!  my  dear  boy,  have  they  starved  you,  the  cruel  wretches; 
but  I  like  you  this  way  best,  for  now  you  look  like  my  little 
Frankie  again." 

They  lived  very  happy  for  a  week  or  two,  when  he  said  to 
his  mother: 

"  I  think  it  would  be  ever  so  nice,  if  one  could  have  all  their 
wishes  granted." 

"I  don't  think  so,  my  little  boy,  for  one  might  wish  for 
many  foolish  things,  that  they  would  be  very  sorry  for  after 
ward." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  ever  should!  Just  think— we  wouldn't 
need  railroads,  ships,  nor  even  balloons.  Then  we  could  see 
if  there  was  a  man  in  the  moon;  and  if  the  stars  would  burn 
our  fingers,  if  we  touched  them." 


42  THE  BOY  WHO  HAD 

"Yes,  that  would  be  all  very  nice,  but  did  you  never  hear 
little  fellows,  and  big  ones  too,  wish  the  '  dickens'  had  it,  the 
'  it '  perhaps  being  mother's  best  bureau,  against  which  a  little 
fellow  had  bumped  his  head,  or  a  shirt  lacking  a  button?  then, 
too,  I  have  heard  some  people  wickedly  wish  they  were  dead, 
because  they  had  the  toothache,  or  had  lost  a  little  money." 

"You  wouldn't  catch  me  wishing  I  was  dead,  when  kites 
and  marbles  are  so  cheap.  Oh!  mamma,  just  look  out  of  the 
window  at  those  pretty  little  girls;  ain't  they  dressed  nice; 
look  at  their  pretty  shoes"— then  he  looked  at  his  own,  which 
were  rather  coarse  and  large — "  and  their  hats,  and  what  little 
waists;  I  wish  I  was  a  girl!"  What  made  him  suddenly  feel 
so  uncomfortable?  He  could  scarcely  breathe,  and  he  didn't 
think  now  the  girls  were  pretty  at  all!  Then  his  feet  ached, 
and  he  couldn't  keep  his  hat  on  the  top  of  his  head!  He 
walked  away  from  the  window,  saying:  "  What  airs  those  girls 
do  put  on!"  But  before  he  reached  the  door  he  tripped,  and 
nearly  knocked  his  nose;  the  heels  of  his  boots  were  so  miser 
ably  high;  something,  too,  impeded  his  walking;  he  looked  to 
see  what  was  the  matter  with  his  coat— and  oh!  horror!— be 
held  a  fashionable  "pull-back"  and  a  trailing  skirt,  and  little 
tight  shoes,  and  a  contemptible  little  hat  that  would  insist  on 
remaining  on  the  back  of  his  head,  or  neck— nothing  could 
exceed  his  amazement  and  disgust ! 

His  mother,  looking  up  from  her  book,  noticed  the  change 
for  the  first  time,  and  thought  some  young  lady  had  come  to 
visit  her,  and  said: 

"How  do  you  do,  dear?  How  prettily  you  are  dressed." 
"Mamma!"  he  screamed,  indignantly;  but  he  did  not  know 
his  own  voice— it  was  now  an  angry  female  shriek;  "  mamma, 
don't  you  know  me;  I'm  no  girl;  oh,  dear,  I  know  what  it  is; 


HIS  VVISHKS  (JIUXTED.  43 

C4iant  Strono-body  or  some  old  witch  lias  been  granting-  all  my 

foolish  wishes;  I  wish  they  would" — he  stopped  in  terror "I 

;oing  to  wisli  they  wouldn't,  without  wishing  to  be  a  boy 
again/'  So  he  wished  himself  back  into  a  boy,  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  fear  the  giants  or  witches  would  change  their 
minds. 

"What  a  lucky  escape  I've  had;  why,  that  was  worse  than 
being  fat,  or  a  skeleton.  Suppose  I  had  remained  a  girl,  I 
might  have  had  to  marry  red-headed  Bill  Jones,  that  I  hate 
so.  Mamma,  can  you  breathe  with  your  dress  so  tight?  and 
how  do  you  sit  down  when  it  is  tied  back  so  ?  I  don't  wish 
any  more  of  my  wishes  granted.  Why,  I  couldn't  have  voted 
when  I  was  grown,  nor  play  billiards,  or  casino  in  the  grocer 
ies,  like  other  men,  or  be  president,  or  march  in  a  torch-light 
procession,  or  have  any  fun.  I  pity  girls,  I  do;  what  do  they 
want  to  live  for  ?  they  can't  do  nothing;  they  can't  even  be 
soldiers  and  fight  tjie  Injuns— they  can  only  stay  at  home  and 
sweep  and  wash  dishes!"  but  here  he  faltered  a  little,  know 
ing  that  the  latter  was  sometimes  his  occupation,  "  they  can't 
even  drive  street-cars — what  are  they  good  for  ?" 

'  Your  mother  was  one,  Frankie,"  she  said,  softly  and  seri 
ously. 

"  Oh,  mamma!  were  you?  but  you  can  do  everything !"  and 
he  threw  himself  into  her  arms;  "  and  you  know  everything, 
and  you  are  the  dearest,  sweetest  person  in  the  world,  better 
than  any  man  that  ever  lived!"  and  he  buried  his  face  in  her 
bosom,  and  she  told  him  about  some  of  the  great  and  good 
women  that  had  lived  in  this  world,  of  their  patient  suffering, 
of  their  heroism,  of  their  genius,  and  taught  him  to  respect 
the  name  of  woman  as  something  almost  sacred,  and  he  said : 

"Indeed,  indeed,  I  always  shall,  because  my  darling,  dear 
mamma  is  one!" 


THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 


LL  boys  are  not  cruel,  though  many  like  to  hurt  and 
tease  animals  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  suffer; 

Sv£  but  our  John  was  not  of  that  number.  His  mother 
was  a  poor,  hard- working  woman,  and  his  father  was  dead, 
yet  for  all  that  she  wished  him  to  have  a  good  education,  and 
never  let  him  be  absent  a  day  from  school. 

In  his  heart  he  felt  how  good  she  was  to  him,  and  he  did  all 
in  his  power  to  show  her  he,  appreciated  it.  He  helped  her 
all  he  could  in  the  early  morning,  then  after  school  he  did  lit 
tle  odd  jobs,  and  all  the  money  he  made  he  gave  her  to  help 
in  housekeeping. 

They  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  near  a  large  com 
mon,  across  which  the  village  began  again.  Here  were  old 
carts,  that  their  owners  could  not  make  up  their  minds  to  cut 
up  and  burn,  left  to  moulder  away  and  drop  to  pieces  in  the 
wind  and  rain;  heaps  of  rubbish,  old  shoes,  tins  and  broken 
crockery.  Here,  too,  occasionly,  an  old  horse  that  had  out 
lived  his  usefulness,  and  accordingly  his  master's  affections, 
was  turned  out  to  die;  there  were  two  or  three  trees  here,  and 
a  little  grass,  so  he  could  die  gradually,  thus  easing  his  own 
er's  mind  from  any  idea  of  cruelty.  This  was  a  place  of  great 
interest  for  John;  he  would  go  there  to  philosophize,  and  many 
a  poor  lame  dog  he  had  been  kind  to  would  welcome  his  ap 
proach  with  a  gladsome  wagging  of  the  tail. 


THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW.  45 

One  evening  after  school,  as  he  was  crossing  this  common, 
to  cut  some  wood  for  one  of  his  customers,  as  he  called  those 
who  paid  him  for  little  jobs,  he  noticed  a  poor,  sick  looking, 
lame,  gray  horse,  walking  with  great  difficulty,  and  nibbling 
the  scanty  tufts  of  grass;  he  went  to  him,  and  speaking  gen 
tly,  patted  his  back  and  rubbed  his  nose;  then  he  examined 
his  mouth,  and,  being  a  little  bit  of  an  expert,  found  that  he 
was  not  such  a  very  old  horse  after  all;  then  he  looked  at  his 
leg;  it  was  very  sore.  He  wondered  why  he  was  so  miserably 
thin,  and  whether  he  was  put  out  there  to  die.  Then  with 
another  pat  and  another  kind  word,  he  cried  out : 

"  Cheer  up,  old  fellow!  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you!" 
and  went  to  his  wood-cutting.  All  the  while  his  thoughts 
were  occupied  by  the  gray  horse,  and  he  wondered  how  a  man 
could  be  cruel  to  his  beasts  that  had  been  a  pleasure  to  him, 
and  perhaps  had  earned  a  greater  part  of  his  living. 

"  Please,  Mrs.  Jones,  can  you  tell  me  to  whom  that  poor 
gray  horse  out  here  on  the  common  belongs  ?  "  he  at  last  asked 
the  woman  for  whom  he  was  working. 

"TVeel,  lad,  I  dinna  ken  he  belongs  to  ony  one  now.  Auld 
Mike,  around  the  corner,  used  to  own  him,  but  he's  mickle  use 
to  ony  one  now,  so  I  s'pose  he's  out  to  die."  When  he  had 
finished  .his  job,  he  went  to  Mike's,  and  asked  him  about  the 
horse. 

"The  baste  is  sick  and  lazy,  and  I  can't  'afford  to  kape  a 
hospital;  he'll  never  get  well,  so  he  can  die  there." 

"AYill  you  give  him  to  me,  please,  Mr.  Mike?" 

"  Ho!  ha!  ha!  and  are  ye  so  rich  that  ye  can  afford  to  kape 
useless  animals  to  feed?  But  take  him  for  all  I  care."  So 
John  wrote  on  a  scrap  of  paper: 

"  I  give  the  sick  gray  horse— what's  his  name,  Mr.  Mike?" 


46          THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

"Whitey." 

"Whitey,  to  John  Silvertree.  Will  you  please  put  your 
name  to  this,  so  that  no  one  can  say  I  took  him  without  your 
leave."  Mike  laughed  and  said: 

"Well,  ye're  a  downright  business  one — there — "  and  he 
scrawled  his  name  with  much  ado  and  few  of  Hogarth's  lines 
of  beauty. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Mike,"  said  John,  and  slowly  led  his 
horse  to  his  back  gate;  then  he  suddenly  thought  what  would 
his  mother  say  ?  His  hesitation  was  but  short,  for  he  knew 
what  a  kind  heart  she  had,  and  he  smiled  a  little  vainly,  as  he 
thought  how  everything  he  did  was  right  in  her  eyes;  so  he 
opened  the  gate  and  led  the  horse  in. 

"Why,  John,  lad,  what  in  the  world  have  you  got  there?" 
asked  his  mother  who  was  in  the  yard  hanging  up  some  clothes. 
Then  he  told  her  all  about  the  horse,  and  how  it  belonged  to 
him  now. 

"  But,  lad,  how  are  you  going  to  feed  and  shelter  the  poor 
sick  beast  ?  " 

"Well,  mother,  if  you'll  let  him  share  your  wood-shed  to 
night,  to-morrow  I'll  try  and  fix  a  place  for  him.  I  believe  I 
can  cure  him  with  care  and  enough  to  eat;  then  he'll  be  worth 
considerable." 

"Well,  well,  lad,  do  as  you  please;  it'll  surely  be  all  right." 
So  John  piled  the  coal  and  wood  on  one  side;  but  he  could 
only  make  room  for  poor  "Whitey's"  head  and  shoulders. 

"Ah,  poor  beast;  you'll  have  to  lay  on  the  ground  to-night; 
but  I  expect  that's  nothing  new  to  you.  Mother,  what  shall 
I  give  him  to  eat?" 

"Ah,  you  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before  you  took 
such  a  present.  I've  got  a  little  flour,  but  horses  won't  eat 


THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW.  47 

that,  or  bread  and  meat;  yes,  I've  some  cornrneal;  how  will 
that  do  ?  " 

"I  should  think  that  would  be  just  the  thing  for  a  sick 
horse."  So  hd  put  some  in  a  bucket  and  wet  it  with  a  little 
water,  then  placed  it  before  old  "Whiter;"  how  he  picked  up 
his  ears  and  kept  his  nose  in  the  bucket,  showing  it  was  a  rare 
treat  to  him.  John  and  his  mother  both  stood  watchful  and 
admiring-. 

"  Poor  fellew;  I  guess  you've  been  half  starved;  no  wonder 
you  didn't  get  well;  mother,  you  didn't  think  I'd  ever  own  a 
horse,  did  you?"  But  she  smiled  in  such  a  peculiar  way  that 
it  was  like  an  audible  reply. 

"  Oh,  you  think  he  isn't  much  of  a  horse  to  own,  any  way; 
just  wait  awhile,  mother,  and  I'll  show  you  a  different  ani 
mal."  Then  he  went  to  a  neighbor's  and  swept  his  stable,  for 
a  couple  of  armfuls  of  hay  and  straw,  and  binding  his  leg 
tightly  in  his  mother's  home-made  liniment,  after  he  had 
washed  it  thoroughly,  he  made  him  as  comfortable  as  he  could, 
with  the  straw  for  a  bed  and  the  hay  convenient  to  eat,  and  a 
piece  of  old  blanket  for  a  covering;  then  left  him  for  the  night 
and  went  to  his  supper,  which  his  mother  had  kept  waiting  for 
him  for  over  an  hour.  After  that,  he  helped  her  wash  the 
dishes;  then  they  both  sat  down  by  the  friendly  light  of  a  lit 
tle  shaded  lamp,  he  to  study  and  say  an  occasional  word  to 
his  mother,  and  she  to  sew,  after  talking  to  him,  for  he  said 
he  didn't  mind,  he  could  study  all  the  same,  and  it  was  a  re 
lief  to  the  good  woman  to  have  an  intelligent  young  ear  into 
which  to  pour  her  trials  and  hopes;  so  the  evening  passed. 

Next  morning  John  got  up  bright  and  early.  Old  ' '  Whitey  " 
was  much  better,  and  greeted  him  with  a  friendly  neigh. 
After  rebandaging  his  leg,  he  rubbed  him  down  with  an  old 


48          THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

shoe-brush;  then,  giving  him  some  more  cormneal,  he  went 
to  school.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  he  could  keep 
his  mind  on  his  books;  finally,  at  recess,  he  said  to  himself: 
"  I  must  think  this  out,  and  have  done  with  it."  So  he  rested 
his  head  on  his  hands,  and  with  his  elbows  on  his  desk  he 
tried  to  solve  the  problem  of  how  to  get  a  supply  of  merchan 
dise  without  the  necessary  cash;  steal  it  he  wouldn't;  go  in 
debt  he  couldn't;  yet  "  Whitey"  must  be  fed  and  sheltered. 
"What's  the  matter,  John;  got  the  headache?"  asked  one 
of  the  kindest  boys  in  ssjiool. 

"No,  but  I'm  thinking."  Then  he  told  him  all  about  the 
trouble  he  was  in,  and  the  boy,  after  thinking  a  moment,  ex 
claimed  : 

"  If  you  don't  want  to  be  too  grand,  and  old  material  will 
do,  I  can  tell  you,  something  to  help  you.  Up  our  way  they 
are  pulling  down  an  old  house.  Perhaps,  if  you'd  help  them 
after  school,  they  would  give  you  enough  stuff  to  build  a 
stable  for  your  Bucephalus." 

"  Thank  you,  Will,  that'll  just  do,  and  I  think  I  can  man 
age  it;  but  you  won't  call  the  poor,  sick  beast  'Bucephalus/ 
when  you  see  him." 

"  I'll  come  and  help  you,  John,  if  you  show  me  how  to  do 
those  sums  I  missed  last  week." 

So  it  was  all  arranged,  and  after  school  the  two  boys  went 
to  the  man  in  charge  of  the  pulling  down  of  the  old  house,  and 
John  told  him  what  he  wanted,  and  that  he  would  help  so 
many  hours  for  enough  old  lumber  and  nails  to  build  a  shed 
just  "large  enough  to  shelter  the  poor  horse.  The  man  was  a 
good-hearted  fellow,  and  readily  consented.  So  John  and 
Will  worked  vigorously  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then,  with 
their  arms  full  of  old  boards,  they  hurried  along  the  streets  to 


THE  LITTLE  HORSE-IXXTUR  AND  HIS  SHOW.  49 

John's  back-gate.  Old  "Whitey"  was  walking  about  the 
yard,  but  the  moment  John  appeared,  he  pricked  up  his  ears 
and  gave  such  a  neigh  that  l)oth  boys  burst  out  laughing. 

"  He  knows  you  already,  John.  I  shouldn't  winder  but  that 
you'll  make  something  of  him,"  said  Will.  Then,  taking  off 
their  coats,  both  the  boys  went  to  work.  The  days  were  long, 
so  they  still  had  several  hours  before  dark;  and  just  as  the 
moon  arose  they  had  finished  quite  a  good  little  shed. 

:;  Well,  I'm  glad  that's  done;  I  shall  sleep  more  comfort 
able  to-night.  Won't  you  come  in,  Will,  and  take  a  cup  of 
tea  with  us  ?  Mother  has  been  waiting  ever  so  long,  but  she 
saw  how  anxious  I  was  to  finish  it,  and  she  did  not  bother 


"  Xo,  I  must  go  home,  for  my  folks  will  be  getting  fright 
ened,  for  I  never  stay  away  so  long  without  their  knowing  it; 
but  I  sent  a  little  fellow  to  tell  them,  so  it  will  be  all  right,  if 
he  did  not  forget.  Good-by;  you  can  show  me  the  sums  to 
morrow." 

How  proudly  John  put  old  "  Whitey  "  in  the  shed,  which 
he  dignified  by  the  name  of  "  stable."  There  was  a  rack  for 
the  hay,  and  a  box  for  the  food;  but  John  had  nothing  for 
him  to-night  but  a  few  potatoes  and  a  handful  of  hay. 

"Never  mind,  old  fellow,  that's  a  little  better  than  you've 
been  used  to  lately;  but  to-morroAv  I'll  try  and  lay  in  a  supply. 
You  don't  mind  having  no  door,  do  you?  that's  healthy;  aiid 
I  don't  think  anybody  will  want  to  steal  you  yet.  ^Good- 
night." 

With  several  weeks  of  care,  John  succeeded  in  curing  old 

"Winter's"  leg;  but  the  time  it  took,  and  the  work  he  had 

to  do  to  get  his  food,  seriously  interfered  with  his  earning  the 

little  money  he  used  to;  but  his  mother  seemed  to  be  almost 

4 


50          THE  LITTLE  HORSE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

as  much  interested  as  lie  was,  and,  between  the  two,  the  horse 
became  so  tame  and  gentle  that  they  taught  him  all  manner 
of  little  tricks. 

When  John  saw  the  horse  was  likely  to  be  valuable,  he  got 
his  little  deed  of  gift  legally  attested,  and  then  let  the  horse 
follow  him  to  school;  but  he  taught  him  to  return  home  the 
minute  the  bell  sounded,  which  he  did  in  a  very  lively  trot. 
When  it  was  time  for  the  school  to  be  let  out,  his  mother 
would  open  the  gate,  and  "  Whitey  "  was  off  like  an  arrow. 
The  horse  was  now  the  wonder  and  envy  of  all  the  boys. 
Those  that  had  made  the  most  fun,  calling  John  the  horse- 
doctor,  were  now' most  loud  in  his  praise. 

Mike  one  day  asked  him  what  had  become  of  the  old  horse. 
John  was  near  his  gate;  so  he  opened  it  and  whistled,  and 
" Whitey"  came  bounding  out,  showing  every  sign  of  joy. 

"  Shure,  that's  not  him!" 

"Well,  it  is,  Mr.  Mike." 

"  Ye  don't  tell  me!  And  was  I  fool  enough  to  give  ye  him 
for  nothing  ?  But  did  I  give  Him  to  kape  ?  " 

"Well,  here's  the  paper,  and  I've  got  it  legally  attested. 
Let  me  show  you  the  tricks  he  can  do."  Then  he  went  through 
quite  a  performance  of  shaking  his  foot,  nodding  his  head,  and 
laying  down  and  getting  up,  finishing  with  a  clumsy  kind  of 
dancing  step.  By  thjs  time,  a  crowd  of  boys  had  collected, 
and  how  they  applauded  and  shouted,  and  would  scarcely  let 
him  put  hisMiorse  back  in  the  stable.  Old  Mike  went  away 
growling  at  his  ill-luck,  vowing  he'd  shoot  the  next  horse  be 
fore  he'd  give  it  away  for  another  man  to  make  his  fortune  off 
him.  But  it  had  proved  anything  but  a  fortune  as  yet  to  poor 
John,  who  now  wore  patches  on  his  knees  and  elbows,  and  a 
very  rusty  hat. 


THE  LITTLE  HORSlMx  >,  ToR  AND  HIS  SHOW.  51 

One  day,  as  lie  was  on  the  Common  with  his  horse,  watch 
ing  him  eat  the  gmss— he  never  let  him  go  anywhere  alone 
now,  for  iVar  he  would  be  stolen — he  heard  a  regular  hubbub, 
and  a  lot  of  boys  came  rushing  after  a  poor  dog,  with  a  tin- 
pan  tied  to  his  tail.  As  quick  as  thought,  John  placed  him 
self  in  front  of  him,  and,  as  he  turned  aside,  he  put  his  foot 
on  the  long  string  that  dangled  behind  him,  then  holding  him 
by  the  neck,  so  that  he  could  not  bite,  he  released  frhe  obnox- 
iou^  appendage  from  his  tail. 

'There,  boys,  that'll  do;  you  had  your  fun.     You've  seen 

the  dog  as  frightened  as  you  could  get  him:  now  let  him  o-o 
i  »  ° 

home. 

"  Is  it  any  of  your  business,  John  Horse-Doctor?  "  spoke  up 
one  of  the  worst  boys  in  the  crowd. 

'  My  business  or  not,  I'm  going  to  protect  that  dog.  I've 
said  nothing,  impolite  to  any  of  you.  James  White,  I  want 
you  to  see  fair  play." 

"All  right,"  and  he  came  from  the  rank  of  dog-hunters  and 
stood  alone. 

"  Oh!  you  think  you're  so  smart  because  you  cured  an  old 
horse,  don't  you,  now?  Phew!  look  at  the  patches  on  his 
breeches." 

"  Is  it  a  fight  you  want,  Dick  Brown  ?  " 
'  Ah !  ah !  "  the  boys  began  shouting. 

"  James  White,  you  see  that  the  boys  let  us  two  fight  it  out." 

"All  right,  go  ahead;  fair  play,  boys:" 

But  Dick  Brown  was  a  coward,  and  turning  away,  said:  "  I 
ain't  going  to  fight  about  an  old  dog." 

He  was  bigger  than  John;  so  the  boys  all  laughed,  and 
one,  about  John's  size,  jumped  from  the^ crowd  and  aimed  a 
lively  blow  at  John's  nose,  but  he  caught  it  on  his  arm,  and, 


52          THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

with  a  quick  movement,  gave  him  in  return  a  flat-handed  slap 
on  the  face  with  such  force  that  it  knocked  him  five  or  six  feet, 
till  he  staggered  back  against  the  other  boys.  This  caused 
another  laugh,  and  the  crowd  broke  up;  and  some  of  them 
asked  John  to  make  his  horse  perform  like  he  did  for  old  Mike ; 
and  John,  who  thought  it  was  best  to  accomplish  things  by 
good  nature,  showed  off  "Whitey"  to  the  best  advantage, 
first  having 'quieted  the  dog  and  got  him  to  lay  down  by  his 
side. 

When  he  went  home,  he  had  another  follower,  and  as  the 
poor  dog  sneaked  in  after  him,  his  mother  said: 

"Oh!  John,  John!  the  sick  and  the  lame  will  be  eating  us 
•up.     "Why  weren't  ye  rich,  poor  lad?" 

"Mother,  we  need  a  watch-dog  now,  and  I  rescued  the  poor 
brute  from  the  thoughtless  boys;  let's  keep  him  a  day  or  two, 
anyhow;  he  can  eat  old  scraps;  it's  very  different  from  a 
horse."  So  that  was  settled,  and  the  dog  shared  the  stable 
with  "Whiter,"  and  they  soon  became  firm  friends.  Now 
whether  dog  language  and  horse  language  are  similar,  or 
whether  each  animal  is  learned  in  a  variety  of  tongues,  certain 
it  is  that  "  Whiter"  had  told  "  Webster" — this  was  the  name 
John  had  given  the  dog  on  account  of  his  large  head — all  his 
history,  and  how  he  could  best  please  their  kind  master.  So 
the  second  morning  when  John  came  to  the  stable,  there  stood 
"  Webster"  on  his  hind  legs,  begging  as  prettily  as  any  men 
dicant's  dog;  how  he  laughed;  "  Oh,  I  shall  have  quite  a  men 
agerie  soon."  So  he  taught  him  other  tricks,  and  his  clothes 
got  rustier.  But  wherever  he  went  the  horse  and  clog  followed 
him,  and  his  appearance  was  always  the  signal  for: 

"  Here  comes  the  little  horse-doctor,"  and  a  rush  to  see 
him,  or  rather  them. 


THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW,  53- 

One  Saturday  he  went  into  the  woods  to  learn  to  ride 
"  Whitey,"  whom  lie  now  called  "-Bucephalus,"  because  the 
boys  all  begged  him  to  do  so,  without  a  saddle,  for  he  did  not 
know  when  he  could  afford  to  buy  such  a  piece  of  extrava 
gance,  when  he  hearda  peculiar  noise,  and  "  Webster  "  rushed 
to  an  old  stump,  and  began  growling.  John  slid  from  "Bu 
cephalus'"  back,  and  examining-  the  stump,  discovered  a 
wounded  squirrel  entangled  in  some  thorns  and, vine's;  so  he 
released  him,  and  tied  him  up  in  his  handkerchief,  and  after 
riding  around  a  little  they  all  went;  home.  In  a  few  days  the 
squirrel  was  well  and  getting  quite  tame,  and  John  thought: 
"Now  something  must  be  done:  niy  family  is  so  large,  and 
my  clothes  won't  hold  together  much  longer,  and  they  re 
quire  food  and  attention,  and  I  get  time  to  earn  so  little — then 
mother  has  to  work  so  much  harder;  but  never  a  reproach  falls 
from  her  lips.  What  can  I  do  ?  Not  turn  my  poor  pets  into 
the  streets,  for  they  wouldn't  go;  not  sell  them,  for  that 
would  almost  kill  me."  But  Will,  coming  in,  they  consulted 
together,  and  seeing  things  were  at  a  crisis,  he  advised  John 
to  give  an  exhibition  every  Saturday  to  the  boys,  and  charge 
them  a  couple  of  cents  each  "  for  the  horse." 

"  You  know,  it  is  the  boys,  bothering  you  so  to  let  them  see 
all  the  tricks,  that  prevents  you  earning  more  money;  now,  if 
they  want  to  see  so  bad,  let  them  pay  at  least  a  little  to  help 
feed  the  horse.  I'll  tend  door  for  nothing,  and  you  run  in  right 
now  and  ask  your  mother,  and  I'll  stay  an  hour  and  help  you 
fix  up."  So  John  put  the  case  to  his  mother  in  the  best  pos 
sible  light,  and  soon  came  out  with  her  consent.  So  the  boys 
cleaned  the  yard  and  stable — for  the  next  day  was  Saturday — 
constructed  a  couple  of  rude  benches,  and  wrote  out  a  little 
notice  and  put  it  on  the  gate.  Will  promised  to  lend  him  a 


54          THE  LITTLE  HOUSE  DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

square  of  carpet,  and  a  red  calico  curtain  to  cover  the  entrance 
to  the  stable;  and  there  the  preparations  ended. 

John  could  hardly  sleep,  and  was  up  long  before  the  sun, 
currying  "  Bucephalus  " — some  one  had  given  him  an  old  comb 
for  services  rendered — brushing  the  dog  and  petting  the  squir 
rel.  He  fed  them  with  the  best  he  had,  dividing  his  break 
fast  with  ""Webster/"  who,  having  such  an  immense  brain,  of 
course  needed  plenty  of  food.  At  last  he  heard  the  boys  be 
ginning  to%come  to  the  gate  and  read  the  notice,  for  Will  had 
told  as  many  as  he  could,  and  they  all  determined  they  would 
be  there,  for  most  of  them  liked  John  now,  and  were  glad  of 
an  opportunity  to  help  him,  and  at  the  same  time  please  them 
selves.  Only  a  few  envious,  "ugly"  boys  held  out. 

Some  boy  read  in  a  loud  voice: 

"  NOTICE! — Exhibition  at  8  A.  M.,  of  the  trained  horse  c  Bu 
cephalus,'  the  dog  'Webster/  and  the  squirrel  '  Le  Petite/ 
Admission,  2  cents — for  the  horse." 

Will  came  through  the  front  way  and  told  him  they  had 
better  begin,  as  they  would  have  to  give  several  exhibitions  to 
accommodate  all  the  boys  wTho  were  coming.  So  John  hung 
the  red  curtain  and  placed  the  square  of  carpet  in  the  middle 
of  the  yard,  in  front  of  the  benches,  then  retired  into. the  sta 
ble.  Will  was  to  ring  a  bell  when  there  were  enough  boys  in, 
and  John  was  to  make  a  grand  entrance. 

Soon  the  boys  began  to  knock  on  the  gate,  and,  after  a  civil 
delay,  not  to  be  too  eager,  you  know,  Will  opened,  it. 

"  Now,  boys,  in  order,  pay  as  you  enter.  There's  not  seats 
for  many;  but  some  of  you  can  stand  if  you  like."  Over 
twenty  boys  crowded  into  the  little  yard,  when  Will  shut  the 
gate,  posting  a  notice  that  the  next  exhibition  would  be  in  an 
hour;  then  he  rang  the  bell. 


T1IK  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  IMS  snow.          r,5 

The  curtains  parted,  and  John  appeared  with  a  shawl  wrapped 
around  him  to  hide  his  patches,  and  a  scarf,  twisted  into  a  tur 
ban,  011  his  head.  He  held  "Bucephalus,"  who  appeared  to 
paw  the  ground  with  fiery  impatience.  The  bo;  hem  a 

hearty  reception,  and  the  blood  mounted  to  John's  forehead, 
he  felt  so  ashamed  to  be  showing  oft*  for  money;  but  he  had. 
made  up  his  mind  he  must  go' through  with  it,  for  the  benefit 
of  his  poor  animals,  and  he  did  so. 

He  ordered  "  Bucephalus"  to  lay  down  on  the  carpet,  then 
rew  himself  down,  with  his  head  on  the  horse  and  one  of 
the   animal's   legs   across  his   chest.     This   was   "  The  Dying- 
Turk."     Then  he  snapped  his  lingers  and  the  horse  stood  upon 
t,  and  at  another  snap  "Webster"  rushed  from  the  sta- 
i/ed  the  reins,  and,  as  John   threw  himself  ; 

'.ck,   with  his  eyes  closed,  the  dog  led  him   slowly 

around  the  yard.     This  was  "  The  Faithful  Friends."     At  a 

>f  the  lingers  they  stood  still,  John  sat  up  and  held  the 

's  mane,  while  he  stood  on  his  hind  feet,  raising  the  dog 

in  the  air,  who  still  held  the  reins.     This  was  called  "The 

Steed,"  and  was  loudly  applauded. 

After  several  other  tricks,  equally  good,  especially  the  last 
one,  where  the  squirrel  was  placed  on  the  horse's  head,  and 
"Webster"  holding  the  reins,  standing  011  his  hind  legs,  they 
all  had  a  lively  da,  msic  of  a  mouth-organ,  played 

by  John. 

He  gave  three  more  exhibitions  that  day,  and  the  boys  of 
the  village  were  wild  with  excitement.  Will  congratulated 
him  on  his  success,  and  handed  him  over  three  dollars  as  the 

[pts. 

"  Oh!  thank  you,  Will;  -you* re  a  real  good  boy.  Won't  you 
have  some  of  the  money?  I'm  sure  you've  earned  it." 


56          THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

"Indeed,  I  won't.  Put  by  some  toward  a  suit  of  clothes; 
and  take  the  rest,  and  I'll  go  with  you  to  lay  in  a  supply  of 
food  for  your  animals." 

John  forgot  his  aching  bones  and  the  weary  feeling  of  ex 
haustion,  produced  by  the  excitement,  in  the  great  joy  of  be 
ing  able  to  give  poor  "Whitey,"  as  he  still  called  him  in  his 
tender  moments,  a  bountiful  feed  of  oats  and  corn,  and  a  nice 
straw-bed  to  lie  upon.  ' '  That's  just  what  you  shall  do,  John," 
said  his  mother,  who  had  been  much  interested  all  day  in  the 
way  things  went.  So  she  claimed  a  dollar  to  put  by  for  the 
clothes — "  for  you  need  them,  bad,  John" — and  told  him  to 
spend  the  rest  on  the  animals. 

It  was  decided  that  he  should  give  a  short  exhibition  every 
morning,  at  half  price,  till  Friday;  then  they  would  prepare 
for  Saturday,  when  he  would  show  all  new  tricks.  This  was 
Will's  idea,  so  that  John  could  get  the  new  suit  on  Saturday 
night,  and  be  able  to  go.  to  church  on  Sunday. 

Ten  to  twenty  boys  came  every  morning,  and  Saturday  he 
had  to  give  exhibitions  till  the  sun  went  down,  the  crowd  was 
so  great,  even  men  coming  and  enjoying  themselves  as  much 
as  the  boys.  Well,  he  got  the  new  clothes,  and  laid  in  another 
stock  of  food  for  the  animals. 

"The  next  money  you  shall  have,  mother,  to  buy  a  new 
Sunday  dress.  Oh!  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  help  you,  now." 

One  afternoon — it  was  vacation  now — he  had  all  his  family 
in  the  woods,  exercising,  when  he  heard  a  low  growl.  What 
could  it  be?  "Webster "  rushed  about  frantically,  snuffing 
here  and  there,  and  appeared  perfectly  wild.  John  examined 
the  bushes  and  stumps  cautiously,  at  last  coming  to  a  close 
thicket.  He  heard  the  low  growl,  or  rather  moan,  again.  It 
was  some  animal  in  pain;  so  he  pressed  ^through  the  thicket 


THE  LITTLE  HORSE-DOCTOR  AND  HIS  SH<>\\.  57 

till  lie  came  to  the  creature — whatever  it  was — lying  crouched 
up  in  a  dark  mass.  Good  gracious!  it  was  a  bear.  "Whether 
"bears  were  inhabitants  of  those  woods,  or  whether  it  was  lost 
from  a  circus,  John  could  not  tell.  He  drove  the  dog  back, 
and  watched  the  bear  for  some  little  time,  speaking  kindly. 
Seeing  that  he  did  not  attempt  to  move,  he  concluded  that  one 
of  his  legs  was  broken.  Taking  a  piece  of  bread  out  of  his 
pocket,  he  offered  it  to  the  bear,  who  must  have  been  very 
weak  and  hungry,  for  he  ate  it  from  his  hand,  and  did  not  at 
tempt  any  violence.  Gradually  John  examined  his  legs,  and 
found,  sure  enough,  one  was  broken;  so,  dipping  his  hand 
kerchief  in  a  spring,  he  bound  it  up  while  he  was  eating,  and 
then  thought  if  he  could  only  get  him  home,  he  would  try  to 
cure  and  tame  him,  if  he  was  not  tame  already.  He  found  he 
was  quite  a  young  bear,  and  so  thin  that  he  could  lift  him  in 
his  arms.  So  he  tied  him  on  the  horse's  back — he  always  car 
ried  string  in  his  pocket — and  the  strange  cavalcade  came  back 
to  the  village.  Before  night  the  whole  place  knew  that  John 
Silvertree  had  captured  a  live  bear! 

It  was  not  many  weeks  before  the  bear  was  cured,  and  being 
instructed,  perhaps,  by  the  secret  councils  of  "Bucephalus," 
he  willingly  learned  various  little  tricks. 

And  now  John  thought  of  enlarging  the  field  of  his  opera 
tions;  in  fact,  to  build  a  stable  and  show  combined.  He  had 
saved  enough  money  by  this  time  to  buy  good,  new  lumber  and 
hire  a  carpenter  for  a  few  days.  He  helped,  under  his  instruc 
tion,  and  soon  quite  a  nice  little  building  arose,  perforated  on 
three  sides  with  innumerable  round  holes,  like  a  man-of-war. 
He  had  put  a  notice  on  the  gate  that  there  would  be  no  show 
till  Saturday,  so  all  the  boys  were  on  the  tip-toe  of  expecta 
tion.  And  what  a  show  he  gave  them;  he  had  studied  a  lot  of 


58  THE  LITTLE  HORSK-DOCTOU  AND  HIS  SHOW. 

pictures  from  books,  and  these  lie  imitated  as  near  as  practi 
cable,  getting  a  lot  of  brandies  of  trees  and  moss  from  the 
woods,  and  covering  boxes  and  lumber  with  slate-colored  mus 
lin  to  imitate  rocks,  bright  calicoes  for  drapery  and  curtains, 
gay  trappings  for  the  horse,  bear  and  dog;  then  he  had  a  lit 
tle  green  curtain  drawn  before  the  holes,  which  he  managed 
easily  with  a  couple  of  draw-strings;  when  all  was  ready  and 
he  was  dressed— he  changed  for  each  picture— he  rang  a  bell 
and  drew  the  curtain  aside ;  for  a  moment  the  boys  were  hushed 
with  amazement,  then  they  burst  out  in  such  a  shout  that  it 
would  have  done  an  old  showman's  heart  good.  Well,  this 
was  a  greater  success  than  the  other,  and  before  many  days  he 
found  himself  paying  taxes  as  a  licensed  showman. 

John  was  determined  now  his  mother  should  not  work  so 
hard. 

"Work  for  yourself  and  me,  mother,  but  no  more  washing 
and  scrubbing  for  other  people."  So  he  gave  her  plenty  of 
money  to  keep  house,  paid  the  rent  regularly,  and  bought  her 
plenty  of  good,  comfortable  clothes. 

John's  show  became  a  permanent  institution,  and  as  the 
village  was  enlarging  rapidly,  some  gentleman  suggested  to 
him  the  idea  of  building  a  small  theater,  and  give  such  in 
structive  exhibitions  that  it  should  be  a  benefit  to  the  place. 
He  caught  at  the  idea  with  great  enthusiasm. 

Several  offered  to  go  in  partnership  with  him  in  the  enter 
prise,  but  John  said  no,  he  would  wait  till  he  had  saved  the 
money.  In  the  meantime  he  saw  no  animal  in  distress  that  he 
did  not  relieve,  and  if  he  was  good  for  his  business,  he  trained 
and  made  use  of  him.  While  he  was  saving  to  build  the  the 
ater,  he  also  had  another  scheme  in  his  head;  that  was,  to 
found  a  hospital  for  sick,  ownerless  animals. 


Till-    LITTLI-:   IlOItSivIHHToR  AM)   HIS  SHOW.  59 

Some  ol  the  w>rldly-wise  said  he  had  a  long-  head  011  him; 
he  mad.--  h'<  benevolence  pay.  But  those  that  knew  him  re 
membered  how  he  went  rusty  and  patched,  in  order  to  feed 
and  care  for  the  poor  animals,  who  then  gave  no  indication  of 
ever  being-  able  to  work  and  pay  back  ever  so  little. 

In  course  of  tin\e  the  money  was  saved,  and  the  theater 
built  and  paid  for.  i  It  was  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  city 
— the  village  had  grown  into  this  new  dignity.  John  became 
a  wealthy  man,  but  /or  years  he  let  110  one  handle  his  dear 
pets  but  himself. 

His  gTand  humanitarian  scheme,  the  hospital,  was  carried 
into  effect,  and  before  long  he  extended  his  charities  to  both 
man  and  beast.  He  i.s  married  now,  and  doubly  happy;  and 
his  wife  and  mother,  and  little  ones,  live  in  a  grand  house, 
and  ride  in  a  beautiful  carriage;  and  he  of  ten  tells  the  children 
how  and  why  he  was  called  the  Little  Horse-Doctor. 


THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK. 


T  was  a  Sunday  night  rehearsal,  t\  thing  that  did  not 
often  happen  at  this  theater,  and  the  scene-shifters, 
carpenters  and  property-boy  vere  waiting  for  the 
company  to  come — and  they  generally  took  their  own 
time  on  such  an  occasion — and  feeling,  as  it  was  not  in  their 
contracts,  they  only  did  it  at  all  out  of  compliment  to  the 
manager.  They  had  all  gathered  around  Joe,  who  knew  more 
anecdotes  about  the  great  actors  than  they  all  put  together; 
besides,  he  was  the  oldest  employee  there,  and  so  was  kind 
of  looked  up  to. 

"  You  see  I've  been  a  night-hand  at  this  theater  ever  since 
— let  me  see — yes,  the  second  week  it  was  built.  They  didn't 
do  things  then  quite  so  grand  as  they  do  now,  and  they  weren't 
as  careful  either— more's  the  pity."  Here  the  speaker  paused; 
his  mind  seemed  to  be  wandering  back  to  the  past,  and  grad 
ually  a  tear  gathered  in  his  eye.  This  seemed  to  bring  him  to 
the  present  again,  and  he  hastily  brushed  it  away,  almost  as  if 
he  were  ashamed. 

"I — I  promised  to  tell  you  something  about  our  Ned;  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  now,  while  we  are  waiting,  and  get  it  off  my 
mind,  for  it  always  gives  me  a  queer  sensation  about  my  heart, 
and  unsettles  me  for  work  for  the  night,  whenever  I  even 
think  how  it  happened." 

The  men  settled  themselves  anew  on  their  boxes,  trestles 


THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK.  61 

and  lumber,  from  whence,  sending  extra-long  streams  of  to 
bacco  juice  into  tue  sawdust  boxes,  they  listened  in  silence. 

"Well,"  continued  Joe,  taking  his  quid  from  his  mouth,  "I 
can  remember  when  this  building  here,  which  is  now  counted 
as  ever  so  handsome,  was  just  like  a  ruin  in  a  picture,  the 
moon  shining  through  the  half -finished  walls,  that  was  built 
up  high  in  some  parts,  and  almost  to  the  ground  in  others — 
it  staid  that  way  for  two  years,  for  lack  of  money,  it  was  said; 
but  the  war  came,  business  brightened  up,  and  it  was  fin 
ished. 

"They  opened  it  with  a  good  old-fashioned  company  from 
New  York,  in  such  plays  as  '  The  School  for  Scandal/  but  it 
didn't  take  worth  a  cent;  you  see  the  boss  that  owned  the 
building  ran  the  show,  and  as  he  hadn't  any  experience  in  that 
kind  of  business,  he  didn't  know  what  the  people  wanted.  I 
got  in  soon  to  help  shift  sceiices,  and  do  little  jobs  around; 
the  work  was  light,  but  the  salary  was  lighter;  they  didn't  pay 
much  those  days.  The  ballet-girls  got  but  three  dollars  and 
a  half  a  week,  and  had  to  find  their  own  dresses  even  at  that. 
And  a  poor-looking  set  they  were,  too,  in  their  faded  calicoes 
and  dingy  delaines.  Some  of  them  sewed  to  help  out  a  liv 
ing,  but  the  manager  didn't  allow  them  to  do  so  at  rehearsal, 
so  they  had  to  wait  around  for  ever  so  many  hours,  nearly 
every  day,  doing  almost  nothing.  Hardly  one  had  ambition 
enough  to  be  studying,  so  as  to  be  able  to  play  a  small  part,  if 
called  upon.  Some  of  them  were  quite  pretty.  One,  I  re 
member,  had  a  child  of  her  own  to  provide  for,  besides  her 
self.  Can  you  wonder,  then,  that  in  those  days,  especially 
when  a  theater  happened  to  fall  into  outsider's  hands,  can  you 
wonder  that  the  despised  ballet-girl  slipped,  sometimes,  from 
virtue,  and  suddenly  budded  out  in  such  gay  clothes  that  she 


62  THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK. 

was  the  envy  and  shame  of  the   others?     But,  there,  I  wasn't 
intending  to  give  a  lecture,  and  things  are  better  now. 

"  You  see,  it  was  the  handsomest  place  in  the  city,  and  the 
boys  hadn't  got  used  to  sit  on  red  plush,  for  even  the  seats  in 
the  galleries  were  covered  with  it,  and  they  couldn't  eat  their 
peanuts  and  squirt  their  tobacco  juice  in  comfort  in  such  an 
aristocratic  place.  So  for  months  and  months  the  galleries 
were  nearly  empty,  and,  consequently,  there  was  hardly  ever 
a  bit  of  applause.  I  tell  you,  the  actors  like  full  galleries; 
that's  what  inspires  them.  Why,  it  was  almost  like  going  into 
a  quiet  meeting-house,  in  those  days. 

"Well,  the  manager  saw  something  must  be  done;  so  he  en 
gaged  a  lot  of  supernumeraries  and  put  on  a  spectacular  piece. 
Now,  you  see,  our  little  Ned  was  a  real  beauty — such  golden 
hair;  and  eyes — so  innocent  and  blue,  like  the  sky!  My  wife 
had  just  got  a  place  there  to  keep  the  dressing-rooms  tidy. 
Well,  she  brought  the  boy  one  night  to  the  theater,  and  the 
stage-manager  noticed  him,  and  said  he'd  engage  him  for  one. 
of  the  fairies  in  the  spectacular,  if  she'd  like.  How  proud 
and  happy  she  was !  She  made  him  a  little  pair  of  gold  shoes 
and  the  prettiest;'  of  wings,  and  a  skirt  of  tarlatan,  about  as 
deep  as  your  hand;  then  she  did  his  hair  up  in  little  tight  curls 
and  frizzed  it,  and  put  one  gold  star  in  the  center  of  his  fore 
head,  among  his  hair;  his  little  legs  were  covered  with,  silk 
stockings,  and  his  arms  and  neck  were  shown  in  all  their  beau 
ty.  I  tell  you,  there  hadn't  been  such  a  pretty  sight  seen  in 
this  theater  since  it  was  built ! 

"  The  play  was  '  Cinderella.'  I  remember  it  so  well.  It 
had  run  a  week,  and  had  made  quite  a  hit.  The  boys  were 
beginning  to  come  in  the  galleries,  and  things  were  lively  for 
once. 


THE  Pool!   MTTLI-;   IK  N<  'HIJACK.  G3 

11  Cinderella's  coach  was  drawn  by  two  little  bits  of  real  live 
ponies,  and  Ned  was  the  coachman,  dressed  quaintly  in  green 
and  gold.  The  manager  furnished  this  dress.  The  Cinder 
ella  was  a  sweet  lady,  who  always  had  a  kind  word  for  every 
one.  One  day,  just  as  the  carriage  was  making  the  circuit  of 
the  stage,  a  crash  sounded,  and  down  it  came,  but  fortunately 
110  one  was  hurt,  except  Cinderella  got  a  little  bruise  or 
two;  but  we  were  dreadfully  frightened  for  little  Ned.  Ah! 
if  we  had  only  taken  that  as  a  warning,  these  white  hairs 
wouldn't  have  been  so  plentiful,  and  I  shouldn't  look  like  a 
poor,  broken-down  man  when  I'm  hardly  in  rny  prime,  and  my 
wife — but  regrets,  or  even  tears  of  blood,  wouldn't  alter  any 
thing.  There  was  a  pause,  and  the  men  shifted  a  little  in  their 
seats,  but  said  nothing. 

"  My  wife,  she  got  to  be  quite  a  favorite  with  the  company, 
and  did  little  jobs  of  sewing  for  both  the  ladies  and  the  gen 
tlemen;  and  it  helped  our  income  considerably,  for  I  didn't 
earn  much  during  the  day,  being  only  assistant  porter  in  a 
wholesale  house ;  and  Ned,  why  you  would  have  thought  the 
ladies  would  have  kissed  him  to  death;  and  the  candy  and 
pennies  he  got;  his  mother  soon  bought  him  a  bank,  and 
taught  him  always  to  put  away  a  part  of  his  money,  also  most 
of  his  salary.  She  said  he  should  have  something  of  his  own 
when  he  was  a  man,  so  that  he  shouldn't  have  to  begin  at  the 
lowest  round  of  the  ladder.  You  see  she  was  sensible;  she 
hadn't  much  education,  but  she  picked  up  a  sight  being  around 
the  theater;  of  course  she  wrould  hear  a  man  swear  once  in  a 
while,  but  she'd  hear  that  anywhere  else  just  as  bad;  then  the 
folks  always  spoke  good  grammar;  if  they  didn't,  you  know, 
the  papers  'ud  get  after  them,  and  they^would^often  quote  he 
roic  bits  from  plays. 


64  THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK. 

"Well,  we  were  nearly  through  the  second  week  of  "  Cin 
derella,"  and  everything  was  ready  for  the  transformation 
scene,  and  little  Ned  was  upon  a  cloud  with  some  other  fairies; 
when  one,  a  great,  tall  girl,  that  had  lately  budded  out,  was 
talking  to  some  of  the  men  on  the  stage,  and  laughing  at  some 
of  their  jokes,  and  not  attending  to  her  business,  she  leaned 
too  much  on  one  side  and  upset  the  cloud;  with  a  crash  and  a 
shriek,  all  the  fairies  fell  to  the  stage.  My  wife,  who  had  been 
watching  our  little  darling,  rushed  on  frantically  and  picked 
him  up;  but  he  was  insensible,  and  she,  thinking  him  dead, 
was  wringing  her  hands  and  crying  in  agony.  I  was  behind, 
working  one  of  the  revolving  pillars,  and  hearing  the  crash,  I 
suspected  an  accident,  and  came  around  just  as  she  was  hug 
ging  him  to  her  breast,  saying: 
"  '  He  is  dead!  oh!  he  is  dead!' 

"  I  thought  I  should  have  died,  too,  my  anguish  was  so  in 
tense;  but  in  a  few  minutes  the  little  fellow  opened  his  eyes, 
and  put  his  hand  to  his  neck;  and  then  we  found  that  his  collar 
bone  was  broken.  But  we  both  thanked  God  it  was  no  worse, 
and  wrapping  him  in  a  large  shawl,  we  took  him  home.  I 
wanted  to  carry  him,  but  his  mother  said: 

"  '  No,  no;  I  can't  bear  to  let  him  out  of  my  arms/ 
"  So  I  went  for  a  doctor,  and  got  home  a  moment  after  she 
did.  Our  Ned  was  moaning  with  pain,  but  the  doctor  wras  a 
good  one,  and  soon  had  him  comfortable,  and  in  a  little  while 
he  fell  asleep;  but  my  wife  never  closed  her  eyes.  I  thought 
that,  by  not  noticing  it,  she  would  lay  down  and  take  a  lit 
tle  nap  some  time,  but  whenever  I  opened  my  eyes,  there 
she  sat,  her  gaze  fastened  on  the  boy;  so  I  got  up  and  told 
her  I'd  watch,  and  she  must  take  a  little  rest  or  she  wouldn't 
be  able  toehold  up  the  next  day;  but  she  said: 


THE  POOR  LITTLE  HIN(  IIP.ACK.  65 

••  •  No,  no;  not  to-night.     I  couldn't  sleep.' 

"  So  I  sat  up  with  her;  and  at  last,  when  the  gray  dawn 
stole  in  at  the  window,  she  dozed  unconsciously  in  her  chair. 

"  Well,  not  to  tire  you,  the  boy  soon  got  better  of  his  hurt, 
but  the  manager  [would  not  pay  the  doctor's  bill,  and  even 
grumbled  to  pay  his  salary.  It  may  have  been  the  treasurer's 
fault.  I  never  could  find  out,  for,  you  see,  had  he  been  a  real 
manager,  he  would  have  done  so  willingly,  and  seen  that 
things  were  better  secured,  that  no  such  accident  should 
happen  again. 

"  Poor  little  Ned  didn't  seem  to  regain  his  strength,  and  was 
so  pale  that  he  looked  like  a  snow-drop;  yet  he  said  one  day, 
about  three  weeks  after  the  accident : 

"  '  Oh!  dear  mamma,  let  me  go  and  be  a  little  fairy  again; 
they'll  fix  that  ugly  old  cloud  so  it  won't  let  us  fall  any  more; 
please  let  me  go  ? ' 

"  But  the  piece  was  taken  off,  so  we  told  him;  and  he  seemed 
so  sorry  that  my  wife,  who  had  hired  another  woman  to  take 
her  place  till  Ned  was  better,  went  to  the  theater  and  told  the 
good-hearted  stage  manager  that  little  Ned  wanted  to  come 
back;  so  he  said  he  should  be  one  of  the  pages  in  a  court 
scene,  and  that  his  coachman's  suit,  altered  a  little,  would 
just  do. 

"  They'd  all  been  so  good  to  him,  sending  all  sorts  of  little 
knick-knacks,  and  toys  and  jelly,  and  when  he  came  back  you 
never  saw  a  child  made  so  much  fuss  over;  but  he  had  some 
thing  so  winning  and  lovable  about  him  that  you  wouldn't 
wonder. 

"  So  it  went  011  for  a  week,  Ned  playing  the  little  page  every 
night;  but  we  noticed  that  he  gave  way  to  stooping,  and  when 
his  mother  said : 


68  THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK. 

"'Oh,  Ned,  darling,  don't  stoop;  it  makes  me  think  you 
are  ill;'  he  would  say  his  back  hurt  him,  and  then  my  wife 
would  turn  pale  and  tremble  like  a  leaf.  So  I  went  privately 
and  told  the  doctor,  and  on  the  pretense  of  taking  Ned  walk 
ing  one  day,  when  his  mother  couldn't  come,  I  took  him  to 
his  office.  There  I  learned  that  his  spine  was  injured,  and 
when  I  asked  if  it  couldn't  be  cured,  the  doctor  shook  his 
head  sadly,  and  told  me  to  try  and  bear  it  like  a  man,  but  that 
he  feared,  greatly  feared,  that  my  little  boy  would  be  a  hump 
back  for  the  rest  of  his  life ! 

"I  caught  the  table  to  save  myself  from  falling;  the  hope 
and  stay  of  my  life  seemed  to  have  been  cut  away,  and  I  felt 
like  a  man  drowning,  without  a  chance  of  rescue. 

"  The  doctor  dashed  a  little  water  in  my  face,  and  placed  me 
in  a  chair,  where  I  sat  speechless,  like  one  dazed,  till  Ned 
came  to  my  side  and  kissed  me,  saying: 

"'Papa,  don't  feel  so  bad  about  it.  God  was  very  good 
not  to  let  me  be  killed.' 

' « I  burst  out  crying  like  a  woman. "  His  voice  was  trembling 
so,  that  the  other  men  felt  as  if  they  had  lumps  in  their  throats. 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  I  was  able  I  took  him  home  to  his  mother, 
but  nothing  could  escape  her  quick  eye. 

"  '  What's  happened?'  she  asked,  '  you  don't  seem  to  have 
enjoyed  your  walk  very  much;  anything  the  matter  with  Ned  ? ' 

"But  Ned,  seeing  her  anxious  look  and  my  pale  face,  ran  to 
her,  and,  throwing  his  arms  around  her  neck,  said: 

"'Don't  cry,  too,  mamma,  for  what  the  doctor  says,  be 
cause,  you  know,  he  might  make  a  mistake.' 

"  '  What  did  he  say,  darling? ' 

"  '  Only,  that  he  feared  your  Ned  would  be  a  little  hump 
back.' 


THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK.  67 

"Had  a  cannon-ball  struck  her  she  couldn't  have  fallen 
quicker,  and  her  shriek  sounds  in  my  ears  yet.  Poor  girl! 
poor  girl!  she's  out  of  all  her  troubles  now." 

All  the  men  were  turning  their  heads,  wiping  their  eyes 
in  a  quiet,  half-ashamed  way.  At  last  the  carpenter  said : 

"  Well,  did  it  come  true?" 

Joe  nodded  his  head  sadly,  and  then  went  on: 

1  You  see,  my  wife  had  seen  'Richard  the  Third,'  and  had 
read  somewhere  that  people  deformed  in  body  were  often  ugly 
and  deformed  in  mind;  so  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  room,  day 
after  day,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  But  at  last 
her  good  sense  returned,  for  she  saw  she  was  only  makino- 
the  poor  child  very  unhappy,  and  iiotjhelping^him  in  the  least; 
so  she  determined  the  beautiful,  pure  mind  that  God  had 
given  him  should  not^grow  deformed  with  the  beautiful  body, 
if  care  and  prayers  would  prevent  it.  So  she  got  a  neighbor's 
child  to  stay  with  him  while  she  did  her  work  at  the  theater, 
and,  telling  the  ladies  what  she  wished,  they  loaned  her  books 
to  improve  herself.  These  she  would  bring  home  and  read 
and  explain  to  Ned,  till  he  became  familiar  with  the  lives  and 
sufferings  of  many  great  men.  One  day  he  said: 

'  But  what  shall  I  do,  mamma;  reading  only  won't  let  me 
earn  money  for  you,  and  you  have  to  work  so  hard  ? '  Then 
his  mother  thought  for  a  long  time;  then  getting  up  and  put 
ting  on  her  bonnet,  asked  him  if  he  disliked  to  stay  alone  for 
a  few  moments;  but  he  shook  his  head,  and  she  soon  returned 
with  a  cheap  box  of  paints  and  told  him  he  should  be  a  painter; 
that  she  was  going  to  study  every  spare  moment,  and  would 
help  him  all  she  could.  And  she  did  study,  copying  every 
picture  she  could  get  hold  of.  I've  often  left  her  drawing 
away  into  the  night,  and  woke  up  and  found  her  still  at  it. 


68  THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK. 

It  was  no  use  my  telling  her  not  to,  for  she  would  say  she 
must  know  how,  so  as  to  teach  Ned.  Ned  should  be  great, 
even  if  his  poor  little  back  was  deformed.  What  would  her 
life  be  worth,  if  Ned  became  vicious  and  idle  and  bad?  No, 
no;  she  could  endure  a  little  work.  And  soon  she  began  to 
draw  and  paint  beautifully,  and  the  boy  followed  right  along- 
after  her. 

"  Then  he  asked  me  to  get  the  carpenter  at  the  theater  to 
make  him  some  little  wooden  boxes  and  frames,  and  that  he 
would  pay  him  when  he  sold  them.  The  carpenter  did  so, 
and  said,  '  Tell  my  little  pet  never  to  mind  the  pay.3  So  he 
painted  them  beautifully  with  birds  and  flowers  and  quaint  de 
vices,  and  one  day  said  to  his  mother: 

"  '  Mamma,  you  have  never  taken  me  to  the  theater  since 
this  has  been  upon  my  back;  you  are  not  ashamed  of  your 
little  Ned,  are  you?  If  I  thought  so,  I  should  cry  so  hard; 
but  that  is  not  it,  is  it,  mamma  ?  You  are  afraid  they'll  pity 
me,  and  that  will  make  me  feel  bad.  But,  mamma,  I  want  to 
go  now,  and  I  want  to  go  alone;  please  let  me/ 

"  So  she  took  him  to  the  door  of  the  theater  and  waited  for 
him  near  by.  When  he  came  out  his  face  was  covered  with 
smiles.  They  had,  indeed,  pitied  him;  but  his  dear  mother 
had  not  heard  them.  They  had  called  him  an  angel,  and  had 
kissed  and  wept  over  him ;  and  bought  all  his  pretty  boxes  and 
frames,  and  told  him  to  bring  more.  So  he  told  his  dear 
mamma  only  the  praises  he  had  received,  and  filled  her  hands 
with  money,  and  said  it  was  all  for  her,  and  that  he  was  going 
to  make  her  a  rich  lady,  for  they  all  wanted  to  buy  some  of 
poor  little  Ned's  work,  and  said  it  was  ever  so  pretty.  * 

"  With  so  much  encouragement,  the  boy  got  to  paint  quite 
a  good  picture,  and  there  was  always  a  sale  for  them.     His 


THE  POOR  LITTLE  HUNCHBACK.  69 

mother  had  told  him  how  much  better  off  he  was  than  the 
poor  man  who  was  borii  without  arms,  vet  became  a  cele 
brated  painter,  doing  all  the  work  with  his  feet;  and  Ned 
would  smile,  and  say  he  must  look  funny  working;  then  he 
would  look  grave,  and  say  that  God  was  very  good  to  him,  in 
giving  him  his  dear  mother  and  father,  and  letting  him  be 
able  to  paint;  and  that  he  would  try  to  be  a  great  man,  too. 
So  he  lived  for  several  years,  when  we  noticed  he  did  not 
paint  so  much,  would  lay  011  the  sofa  oftener,  and  did  not  eat 
with  his  usual  relish;  still,  he  never  complained.  I  consulted 
the  doctor,  and  after  coming  to  see  him,  but  ostensibly  to  see 
his  pictures,  he  said  he  could  do  nothing  for  him. 

"  I  now  noticed,  for  the  first  time,  that  my  wife's  hair  was 
getting  gray,  and  she  had  a  bright,  strange  look  in  her  eyes; 
and  as  the  boy  got  weaker,  the  mother  slept  less,  and  gradu 
ally  they  seemed  to  fade  together.  The  doctors  could  do 
nothing,  and  I  could  only  watch  and  pray  God  to  take  me  when 
they  went.  But  he  didn't;  for  I  saw  our  Ned,  our  darling- 
Ned,  die  in  his  mother's  arms,  saying: 

"  'Good-bye,  papa;  meet  us  there!" 

"And  she,  with  a  smile  on  her  face,  put  one  arm  around  my 
neck,  and  kissing  me,  with  a  gentle  sigh  her  spirit  joined  our 
boy's." 

Some  of  the  men  were  sobbing  like  children,  and  all  were 
feeling  so  sorry  for  poor  Joe.  But  the  call-boy  shouted, 
"  First  act!  All  ready  to  begin!"  The  spell  was  broken,  and 
they  were  commonplace  workmen  again. 


SEVEN   LITTLE   PAIRS   OF   SHOES; 
OR,  THE  POT  OF  GOLD. 


,  HEBE  they  stood,  seven  little  pairs  of  well-blacked, 
well-patched  shoes.  Even  Tootsum's  was  there — 
Tootsum  had  just  learned  to  walk — and  the  blacking 
scarcely  hid  where  the  ' '  big  little  pig  "  had  almost  worn  a  hole 
through  the  leather.  And  there  by  the  fire,  pinned  to  a  warm 
towel,  wrere  the  seven  little  pairs  of  stockings,  for  it  was  Sat 
urday  night,  and  the  wearers  of  them  had  to  go  to  Sunday 
school,  except  Tootsum  and  Jem,  who  were  too  young  and 
noisy. 

The  clock  ticked  loudly,  for  it  was  very  quiet;  that  and  the 
singing  of  the  tea-kettle,  with  a  little  snorft  now  and  then 
from  the  room,  were  the  only  sounds  audible. 

"I  do  wish  John  'ud  come,  it  be  gettin'  late  and  I  be  so 
sleepy  that  I  can  hardly  keep  my  eyes  open."  No  wonder 
Mrs.  Truehart  felt  sleepy,  sitting  so  still  after  a  hard  day's 
work,  with  only  the  kettle  and  the  crickets  for  company. 

The  toast  was  ready,  and  the  teapot,  with  its  treasure  of  two 
spoonsful  of  tea,  waiting  for  the  hot  water.  Still  John  did 
not  [come.  "  I  wonder  why  he  be  so  late?"  and  Mrs.  True- 
hart  sat  down  again  and  gazed  at  the  roses  and  laughing  Cupid 
carved  in  the  high,  old-fashioned  mantel-piece.  "Most  likely 
Mr.  Sneezeum  can't  pay  him  in  money,  and  he  has  to  take 


SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES.  71 

another  order  and  go  miles  to  get  it  filled.  I  do  hope  it  will 
be  for  victuals  this  time — it  be  hard  to  take  'em  for  French 
clocks  and  picter-frames."  Here  she  looked  at  the  one  on  the 
mantel,  which  was  the  delight  of  the  whole  house,  but  too 
grand  for  the  surroundings.  "  Mr.  Sneezeum  says,  '  Sell'em, 
man,  sell  'em..'  He  forgets  the  time  it  takes  and  the  money 
we  lose,  but  John  be  so  shame-faced  he  can't  say  'No. '  'Never 
mind,'  he  says,  'it  will  all  be  well  when  my  ship  comes  home/ 
Ah !  ships  seldom  come  to  poor  people,  but  my  John's  a  genius, 
and  mayhap  he'll  sell  one  of  his  inventions  yet." 

The  carved  Cupid  seemed  to  laugh  at  the  idea,  as  she  gently 
nodded  until  she  fell  asleep.  And  what  bright  dreams  she 
had;  real  ships  011  real  water,  filled  with  satin,  crape  and  tea, 
all  the  way  from  China.  Then  the  scene  changed,  and  she  was 
walking  in  Golden  California,  treading  on  silver  dollars.  Then, 
as  if  transplanted  by  genii,  she  was  in  her  own  home,  just 
where  she  was,  and  still  gazing  at  the  Cupid.  The  little  fel 
low  seemed  to  leave  his  carved  roses,  and  to  hop  upon  the  floor 
with  many  an  elfish  grimace. 

"Mrs.  Truehart,Mrs.  Trueliart!"  he  cried  in  a  little  piping- 
voice,  "how  would  you  like  to  find  a  pot  of  gold?" 

••  Y  pot  of  gold!  a  pot  of  gold!"  she  replied,  wonderingly, 
"why,  man,  where  could  I  get  it?" 

"  Shall  I  tell  her,  Brownies?"  and  from  every  carved  rose 
a  little  brown' head  appeared  nodding  violently. 

"Yes,  yes,  she's  <>-<>od;  we've  seen  her  time  and  again  patch 
ing  clothes,  darning  stockings,  and  even  making  little  Toot- 
sum's  shoes." 

"Yes,  and  she  doesn't  grumble  when  her  husband  comes 
home  late  and  tells  her  he  couldn't  help  it,"  cried  a  little  fel 
low  with  a  long  beard  and  a  dissipated  look  in  his  face. 


72  SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES. 

"Well,  then,  Mother  Truehart,"  cried  Cupid,  all  of  a  grin, 
"pull  away  yon  set  of  shelves,  and  in  the  little  cupboard  be 
hind  them  you  will  find  a  pot  of  gold;  by-by."  And 
Brownies  and  Cupid  all  vanished,  as  she  jumped  up,  rubbing 
her  eyes. 

"What  if  it  be  true!"  she  said,  going  toward  the  shelves. 
"A  pot  of  gold!  Oh!  then  my  John  could  get  his  inventions 
patented,  and  wouldn't  our  William  look  well  as  a  gentleman! 
and  Elizabeth,  too,  would  be  able  to  pick  and  choose  from  the 
best  in  a  few  years." 

By  this  time  she  was  pulling  vigorously  at  the  shelves,  and 
suddenly  they  slid  to  one  side  and  disclosed  a  small  cup 
board.  She  stopped  in  amazement,  almost  amounting  to 
horror. 

"Mayhap  tins  be  a  temptation  of  the  Evil  One.  John's 
patents  might  not  be  liked,  so  he'd  fret  and  maybe  go  to  the 
bad;  and  William,  with  lots  of  money,  might  take  to  the  drink 
and  cards,  and,  instead  of  the  good,  industrious  lad  he  is  now, 
break  his  mother' s  heart. "  She  pushed  the  shelves  back  quick 
ly,  and,  sitting  in  her  big  chair,  cried:  "No,  no;  if  there  be  a 
pot  of  gold  in  yon  cupboard,  there  let  it  stay,  and  never  let  it 
trouble  me  or  mine!"*  She  soon  fell  to  thinking  and  dozing 
again :  ' '  Things  be  unequal  in  this  world — the  money  to  the 
rich,  the  children  to  the  poor;  more  mouths  to  feed — to  feed 
—than  food  to  put — put—."  And  now  she  was  fast  asleep; 
but  her  dreams  did  not  take  her  from  home. 

It  was  still  Saturday  night,  and  she  had  worked  hard  all 
day  with  scarcely  a  mouthful  of  food,  for  John  had  lately 

*  My  own  grandmother  had  such  a  dream,  without  the  fairy  element,  and  pulling  the 
shelves  away  discovered  the  cupboard,  but  never  opened  it.  This  was  in  Bristol,  Eng 
land,  after  the  liots  there,  during  which  time  much  money  was  secreted  in  out-of-the- 
way  places. 


SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES.  73 

been  paid  in  orders  that  were  very  unsalable,  and  she  couldn't 
hear  the  children  ask  for  bread  in  vain,  so  had  gone  without 
herself,  and  was  hungry  and  unhappy. 

"Ah!  well,  if  there  were  less  mouths  to  feed,  one  wouldn't 
be  compelled  to  go  hungry  and  wear  such  shabby  clothes." 
So  in  her  dream  she  went  on  fretting  and  complaining. 

"Look!"  said  the  carveii  Cupid,  not  laughing  now,  but 
sternly  pointing  to  the  row  of  shoes. 

She  looked— and  the  line  was  broken!  There  were  vacant 
places;  three  pairs  of  shoes  were  gone— William's,  Elizabeth's 
and  Tootsum's.  She  turned  quickly  to  the  stockings— only 
four  pairs ! 

"Dead!"  said  the  Cupid.  And  she  awoke  with  a  start  of 
terror. 

The  fire  had  burned  low,  the  kettle  had  stopped  its  singing; 
she  went  to  the  shoes  in  an  agony  of  fear. 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven.  Thank  God,  they 
are  all  here  !  " 

Then  stirring  the  fire  and  snuffing  the  candle,  she  hurried 
into  the  next  room.  All  her  little  ones  were  sleeping  peace 
fully.  She  kissed  Tootsum  so  joyfully  that  it  almost  awoke 
the  little  fellow.  Then  she  walked  quietly  into  William's 
den— a  corner  of  the  room  divided  off  and*  walled  up  with 
wrapping  paper.  In  it  there  was  a  door,  and  a  window  that 
looked  out  of  the  big  window,  and  all  was  as  neat  as  a  pin. 
She  touched  her  lips  gently  to  the  boy's  forehead,  for  he  was 
a  light  sleeper. 

"My  brave  boy!"  she  murmured;  "to  lose  you  and  the 
others  would  be  worse  than  the  worst  poverty ! "  * 

A  rousing  knock,  and  a  cheery  voice,  calling:  "Betsy,  open 
the  door!"  completed  her  new-found  happiness. 


74  SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES. 

"  Ah,  John!  I've  had  such  a  bad  dream;  but  you  see,  I  was 
tired  and  hungry.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!"  and  they 
kissed  heartily. 

"Well,  well,  lass;  I  don't  wonder  you're  hungry,  and  had 
bad  dreams,  not  having  tea  yet;  and  its  past  ten  o'clock;  but 
this '11  make  amends."  And  from  his  capacious  pockets  he 
drew  a  string  of  sausage,  a  pot  of  marmalade,  some  tea,  and  a 
paper  of  cakes. 

"  What  a  treat,  John!  it  must  have  been  a  good  order  this 

time." 

"Aha!  lass,  it's  better  than  that!  But  put  on  the  sausages, 
and  I'll  tell  you  while  we  are  taking  our  tea.  We're  fashionable, 
this  time,  for  its  so  late  that  our  dinner  is  almost  supper; " 
and  he  laughed  a  hearty  laugh  as  he  hung  up  his  great  coat, 
and  washed  his  face  and  hands. 

Soon  the  sausage  was  hissing  and  spluttering  on  the  fire. 
That  and  the  aroma  of  the  tea  and  toast  filled  the  room. 

"Well,  wife,  what  do  you  think?     I've  sold  my  key  ?  " 

"La!" 

' '  Yes.  Mr.  Sneezeum  said  the  idea  of  the  key  altering  while 
it  was  being  turned  in  the  lock,  and  its  having  to  be  readjusted 
before  it  could  unlock  again,  was  quite  new,  and  he'd  give  me 
fifty  pounds  for  it,  as  I  was  too  poor  to  get  it  patented,  and  it 
was  too  good  an  invention  to  be  lost.  Betsy,  I  thought  of 
you  and  the  little  ones,  so  took  the  money,  although  I  knew 
it  was  worth  much  more.  I  was  thankful,  too,  for  it  was  a  be 
ginning  and  we  don't  know  what  it  may  lead  to;  so,  you  see, 
my  ship's  coming  home ! " 

She  thought  of  her  dreams  and  murmured  softly  to  herself: 

"  Oh!  this  is  my  pot  of  gold! " 

"  May  I  come  in?  "  asked  William,  standing  in  the  doorway, 


SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES.  75 

in  his  shirt  and  trowsers  and  stocking  feet.  "  The  sausages 
made  such  a  noise,  and  smelt  so  good,  that  they  woke  me  up." 
'  Yes,  come  in,  lad,  and  eat  supper  with  us."  So  the  boy 
put  on  his  jacket,  and  taking  his  mother's  slips  from  under  the 
bed— you  see  he  was  a  privileged  character,  being  the  son  and 
heir— he  sat  down  to  the  table. 

'Whew!  sausages,  marmalade,  cake!  What's  up?  Ah! 
didn't  I  hear  something  about  a  key,  or  did  I  dream  it?" 

'  No,  no,  lad,  its  all  true.  Father  has  sold  his  key,  and  for 
such  a  fortune,  fifty  pounds!" 

'Aha!  I  knew  you'd  come  out  all  right,  father!"  and  Wil 
liam  got  up  and  shook  his  father's  hand  warmly,  and  would 
have  kissed  him,  only  he  felt  ashamed. 

"I'm  in  luck,  too,  father.  I  did  not  have  courage  to  tell 
mother  till  you  came.  You  know  the  cabinet-maker's  on  the 
way  to  the  shop?  Well,  when  first  you  brought  your  clock 
home,  I  thought  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  carve  such  pretty  fig 
ures  as  are  on  it,  so  I  took  a  broken  knife,  an  old  file  and  a 
piece  of  wood  and  went  to  work.  Going  by  the  cabinet-mak- 
I  noticed  some  carved  chairs  that  didn't  look  much  better 
than  mine,  so  I  showed  him  what  I  had  done,  and  he  said  if  I 
could  manage  the  chair-backs  he'd  give  me  a  shilling  apiece. 
Father,  I  hope  you  won't  think  hard  of  me  for  doing  this 
without  first  telling  you,  but  I  intended  to  do  it  at  night,  and 
not  give  up  my  place." 

'•'  Hard  of  you!  No,  no,  lad,  I  like  to  see  one  have  a  mind 
of  his  own  when  it's  for  good.  Now,  let's  see  what  you've 
done  ?  " 

William  went  to  his  "den,"  and  from  underneath  his  bed  he 
brought  out  a  box.  How  his  parents  admired  the  contents! 
There  were  a  few  nicely-carved  little  figures,  a  vase  made  of  a 
knot  of  wood  and  some  twigs,  and  a  pretty  little  frame. 


76  SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES. 

"Why,  we've  got  quite  a  genius  in  the  family.     Lad,  when 
did  you  do  these  ?  " 

"  In  the  leisure  moments  I  had  in  the  shop." 
"Well,  Betsy,  you  see  that  order  for  the  French  clock  wasn't 
so  bad  after  all;  it  started  our  boy  on  what  may  prove  a  for 
tune  to  him." 

How  happy  William  felt  as  his  father  patted  him   on  the 
shoulder,  and  said  he  was  proud  of  him. 

Was  there   ever  a  supper  tasted  like  this   one  ?     Was  ever 
tea  so  fragrant,  or  sausages  so  savory?     But,  then,  "no  one 
can  cook  like  mother,"  was  William's  thought.     It  was  well, 
William,  you  had  no  wife  to  tell  it  to.     No  one  felt  sleepy. 
Their  eyes  were  too  wide-awake  with  happiness.     So  father 
wandered  off  into  telling  anecdotes;  old,  old  anecdotes  that 
they  had  heard  twenty  times  before.     Yes,  O  how  fresh  and 
funny  they   seemed   that  night,   and  how  they   all  laughed, 
especially  at  the  dentist  pulling  out  the   clerk's  tooth,  while 
the  finely-dressed  lady  ran  off  with  the  shawl;  for  father  made 
such  a  funny  face  at  the  pulling  that  one  could  not  help  mak 
ing  a  funny 'face,  too,  in  sympathy.     William   suggested  that 
father  should  sing  "The  Bay  of  Biscay,"  but  he  said  it  would 
wake  the  children,  besides  it  was  so  near  Sunday  morning  that 
it  wouldn't  be  proper. 

"  It's  time  for  bed,  William;  so,  good  night,  lad." 
"Good  night,  father;  good  night,  mother,"  and  he  kissed 
her  and  went  reluctantly  to  bed,  where  he  lay  awake  a  full 
hour,  thinking  and  building  fine  castles  for  the  future,  and  of 
how  a  bright  little  face  peeped  out  of  the  castle  windows— 
"Lady  Maude,"  as  he  called  her — who  often  came  to  the  shop 
with  her  governess  to  buy  cakes  as  they  were  on  their  daily 
walk.  "Who  knows,"  he  thought;  "I  might  become  a  famous 


SEVKX   UTTU:   PAIIJS  OF  SHOES.  77 

sculptor  some  day,  and  not  so  much  beneath  her,  for  talent  is 
nature's  patent  of  nobility."     You  see,  he  had  read  books. 

And  now  the  angel  of  sleep  spread  her  soft  wings  over  the 
household,  and  the  dreams  were  only  as  light  and  sweet  as 
the  feathers  that  fell  from  her  wings. 

How  gloriously  the  sun  arose  next  morning !  and  what  a  pat 
tering  of  little  feet !  Soon  the  glad  tidings  was  spread  among 
the  children,  and  they  all  thought  their  fortunes  made.  Even 
Tootsum  ran  about  saying:  "Pa,  pa,  key!" 

Soon  the  house  was  quiet  again,  the  older  children  having 
gone  to  Sunday  school.  Jem  was  drawing  pictures  in  a  cor 
ner,  and  Tootsum  being  asleep.  Mrs.  Trueheart  swept  up  the 
room;  this  can't  be  neglected,  even  on  Sunday,  where  there 
are  so  many  children;  watered  her  three  pots  of  flowers,  then 
prepared  the  usual  plain  dinner,  for  she  let  Elizabeth  go  to 
church  and  remained  at  home  herself,  as  one  had  to.  Just 
before  church  was  out,  such  a  surprise  came ! 

Eap!  rap!  at  the  door.     She  opened  it,  all  of  a  flutter. 

"  This  is  for  Mrs.  Trueheart;"  and  before  she  could  speak, 
from  amazement,  she  had  taken  the  tray,  and  the  man  was 
gone.  A  smoking  roast  of  beef  and  baked  potatoes,  a  huge 
plain  pudding  and  sauce — a  dinner  fit  for  a  king!— and  dear 
John  had  ordered  it  without  even  telling  her,  the  kind  heart. 

And  now  the  door  burst  open  and  they  all  poured  in,  John 
and  her  darlings.  How  their  eyes  sparkled  as  they  saw  the 
smoking  dinner!  for  it's  pretty  true,  that  the  way  to  men  and 
children's  hearts  is  through  their  stomachs. 

"  Mother,  is  it  Christmas  ?  "  asked  little  Annie. 
'  No,  goose,  no,"  said  Jack,  "don't  'ee  see  the  puddin'  got 
no  plums  in  it." 

"  John,  this  was  very  kind  of  you.  What  a  treat  it  is  to  the 
young  ones." 


78  SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES. 

It  took  but  a  few  moments  for  bonnets  and  hats  to  be  laid 
aside,  and  seven  happy  faces  looking-  at  father  and  mother  and 
— the  dinner. 

"What  nice  gravy!  Don't  'ee  forget  some  on  my  plate," 
said  Susie,  impatient  for  her  turn  to  come. 

"  This  brown  slice  is  for  mother.  Betsy,  you  are  not  a  bit 
English  in  your  beef." 

She  laughed  and  said: 

"  No,  I  don't  like  it  rare,  but  it's  Avell  to  have  some  one  to 
eat  the  brown,  so  as  to  have  no  Avaste,  like  Jack  Spratt  and  his 
wife." 

They  all  laughed  heartily  at  this,  even  to  Jem,  who  had  a 
treasured,  but  torn,  book  of  Mother  Goose,  most  of  which 
was  mystical  lore  to  him,  especially  the  puzzles  of  how  the  cow 
got  over  the  moon,  and  how  the  four-aiid-twenty  blackbirds 
could  sing,  after  being  baked  in  a  pie. 

To  make  their  happiness  complete,  mother  gave  them  mar 
malade  to  eat  on  their  pudding,  and  a  cup  of  weak  tea  each; 
not  that  the  tea  was  nice,  but  it  was  like  big  people.  So  they 
would  have  drank  it,  nice  or  not,  except  Tootsum,  who  made 
a  wry  face.  Jem  said: 

"  It's  clood,  Toots,  dood.     Dink  it." 

"  Dood?"  said  Tootsum,  and  took  another  sip;  but  to  show 
he  didn't  believe  it,  he  turned  the  rest  of  it  on  the  floor. 

"  Bad  boy,"  said  Elizabeth,  wiping  it  up. 

"  Don't  call  him  bad  to-day,  Lizzie, "said  William,  "because 
we're  so  happy." 

Then  mother  gave  them  a  few  cakes  to  put  in  their  pockets. 
There  was  very  little  of  the  pudding  left,  I  can  tell  you,  or  of 
the  beef,  either.  So  the  dishes  were  washed  up  and  put  away, 
and  father  told  them  some  curious  facts  about  other  countries 


SEVEN  LITTLE  PAIRS  OF  SHOES.  79 

that  children  love  to  hear,  while  mother  was  smartening  her 
self.  Then  they  all  took  a  pleasant  walk  upon  the  downs, 
father  and  mother  always  having  something  new  to  tell  them. 

This  Sunday  was  a  bright,  bright  one  in  their  calendar. 

Years  have  passed  away;  Elizabeth  has  married  a  man  she 
is  proud  of,  and  Susie  is  just  budding  into  a  pretty  young 
lady,  for  they  are  well  off  now,  and  are  all  getting  the  best  of 
educations,  for  father's  inventions  are  very  popular,  and  gen 
tlemen  take  off  their  hats  to  him  in  the  streets.  Mother  has 
her  amber  satin  dress  for  best,  and  looks  the  picture  of  moth 
erly  happiness.  "William  has  become  a  celebrated  wood-car 
ver,  now  and  then  doing  something  in  marble.  He  is  acquaint 
ed  with  "Lady  Maude"  IIOWT,  and  is  making  a  fine  statue  of 
her.  Who  knows  what  it  may  lead  to  ?  He  may  yet  see  her 
sunny  face  peeping  out  of  his  castle  window — home. 


MfNNETTE. 


this  poor  young  girl  lived  on  the  fifth  floor  of  a 
New  York  tenement-house,  working  night  and  day 
to  earn  enough  to  keep  soul  and  body  together,  and 
a  roof  to  shelter  her.  Her  large,  gray  eyes  looked  wistful 
and  eager  out  of  a  pale  face  and  masses  of  dark  brown  hair. 
She  seemed  to  have  but  one  friend  in  the  world,  an  old  opera 
singer,  whose  singing  days  were  long  since  past,  who  came 
one  evening  each  week  and  took  tea  with  her. 

As  she  carried  her  work  to  and  from  the  shop  she  caught 
glimpses  of  the  great  world,  and  it  fascinated  her.  Oh!  if  she 
could  only  become  somebody — not  a  poor,  dull  atom  that  peo 
ples'  eyes  passed  over,  as  if  she  were  space,  but  somebody, 
the  very  sight  of  whom  should  make  the  beholder's  face  look 
glad;  somebody  whose  very  name  should  cause  all  hearts  to 
thrill  with  a  pleasant  emotion !  But  it  was  only  a  far-away, 
impossible  dream,  for  with  neither  time  nor  money,  what 
could  she  become  different  to  what  she  was— a  slop-shop  girl? 
It  was  "Saturday  evening,  and  her  poor  little  room  was  in 
order,  and  the  tea  and  toast,  with  the  additional  luxury  of 
three  dried  herrings,  awaited  Madam  Therese's  coming. 
Sometimes  the  repast  was  varied  by  a  little  cheese,  or  a  tiny 
pat  of  butter,  or  fruit  or  vegetables  when  they  were  in  season, 
but  nothing  costing  over  a  few  cents,  for  to  a  woman  earning 


MIXNETTE.  81 

but  a  pittance,  even  that  little  additional  expense  is  quite  an 
item,  and  she  would  not  go  in  debt,  even  if  she  had  sometimes 
to  almost  suffer  hunger.  Soon  she  heard  the  old  lady's  step> 
accompanied  by  a  gentle  puffing,  for  four  pairs  of  stairs  were 
no  easy  matter  for  a  stout  person  to  climb. 

'Well,  child,  how  d'ye  do?"  and  she  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead,  and  quickly  sat  down  in  the  offered  chair.  "  Those 
stairs  seem  longer  every  time  I  come.  I  wish  you  could  af 
ford  to  move  down  a  night." 

"  I  wish  I  could,  too,  for  your  sake,  but  money  is  very  hard 
to  earn,  so  I'll  have  to  be  contented  with  what  I  have." 

'  That's  why  I  say  you  ought,  you  must,  find  time  to  learn 
to  be  a  singer!  "  Minnette  smiled  faintly. 

"Ah!  Madam  Therese,  who  would  wish  it  more  than  I? 
But  for  every  hour  I  stopped  sewing  to  sing,  I  should  have  to 
lose  a  meal,  and  that  would  soon  make  it  impossible  for  me  to 
either  sing  or  work,  for  one  mast  eat,  you  know,  even  if  they 
have  to  go  half-clothed,  and  live  in  dirt.  I  would  willingly 
sew  far  into  the  night,  if  that  would  help  matters,  but  light 
and  fire  are  expensive  items;  then  the  loss  of  sleep  unfits  me 
for  the  next  day's  work;  I've  tried  it.  But  let  us  eat  while 
the  toast  is  warm;  we  can  talk  and  eat,  too." 

So  the  old  lady  pulled  off  her  worn  gloves,  and  drew  on  her 
lace  mits,  laid  aside  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  sat  down  with 
much  ceremony. 

'  You  see,  my  dear,  when  I  was  in  the  opera,  I  was  young, 
and,  well — yes,  I  was  considered  handsome,  too,  but  I  never 
was  leading  prima  donna,  nor  ever  expected  to  be,  on  account 
of  a  slight  sore-throat  that  I  was  always  liable  to;  it  seemed 
to  be  hereditary.  The  tea  is  very  nice  to-night,  my  dear." 

"What  a  pity!" 
6 


32  MIXXETTE. 

"The  tea?" 

"  Oh,  no!  but  to  think  you  should  have  had  anything' to 
curb  your  ambition.  I  believe  it  would  have  made  me  per 
fectly  miserable,  for  if  I  could  not  hope  to  become  better  and 
better,  and  one  day  reach  the  very  top,  there  would  be  noth 
ing-  to  sustain  me!  " 

"And  yet  you  live  and  drudge  here  every  day,  without  even 
hoping  for  a  better  future." 

"Ah!  but  with  you  it  was  so  different.  You  were  already 
on  your  road  to  fame,  and  free  from  the  terrible  chains  that 
seem  to  hold  me  down  to  poverty." 

"  Yes,  I  had  much  happiness.  My  salary  was  sufficient  to 
support  myself  and  a  delicate  sister,  also  to  lay  by  a  little;  I 
had  learned  to  be  thoughtful  for  her  sake.  We  had  two  pleas 
ant  rooms,  within  a  pretty  long  walking  distance  of  the  thea 
ter,  and  sister  helped  with  the  work.  Many  a  time  when  I 
had  studied  a  difficult  new  part,  and  had  taken  extra  care  of 
my  throat,  the  manager  would  pat  my  shoulder,  and  tell  me  I 
had  done  well.  Ah!  but  those  were  proud  and  happy  nights 
for  me!  And  because  I  did  not  expect  to  become  great,  the 
other  ladies  who  all  hoped  one  day  to  rival  Jenny  Liiid  were 
not  jealous  or  ugly  to  me.  Ah!  those  were  happy  days!" 
and  Madam  Therese  sighed,  and  seemed  to  forget  Minnette's 
very  presence.  At  last  she  roused  up. 

"  AVliy,  child,  my  eyes  were  turned,  and  I  was  reading  all 
over  my  book  of  memory;  but — half  cup  of  'tea,  if  you  please 
— thanks.  Let  us  finish,  and  then  while  you  are  clearing 
away,  let  us  sing." 

Oh!  what  a  sweet  bird-like  voice!  so  thrilling,  too;  no  won 
der  the  old  lady  wished  her  to  become  a  singer  ~  and  no  won 
der  the  girl  felt  hopeless  in  the  clutches  of  poverty,  with  such 
a  sfift  and  not  a  dollar  to  cultivate  it. 


.MIXXl-TTK.  83 

Madam  Therese  would  occasionally  stop  her,  and  show  her 
how  to  correct  a  trill  or  prolong  a  note,  for  though  her  voice 
was  gone,  or  rather  the  dying  embers  only  remained,  still  she 
knew  the  theory  perfectly,  and  even  gave  a  few  cheap  lessons 
in  the  neighborhood  where  she  lived. 

When  the  dishes  were  done,  Miunette  took  her  sewing  and 
so  continued  her  singing.  Now  and  then  her  hands  would 
pause  and  keep  time  with  the  music. 

"  Oh,  Madam  Therese,  if  I  only  knew  as  much  as  you  do,  I 
would  try  to  get  a  place  as  chorister  in  the  opera  to-morrow." 

"  In  the  chorus!  Xo,  indeed,  dear;  you  could  just  as  easily 
get  a  place  to  sing  parts,  and  they  would  think  a  great  deal 
more  of  voufor  aiming  high.  As  for  the  chorus,  you  could  do 
that  now;  then  you  would  have  time  to  study  the  theory  of 
music  without  starving  yourself  to  death." 

But  Miunette  looked  at  her  only  best  dress,  a  cheap  black 
alpaca,  without  overskirt  or  ruffle,  ornamented  with  only  two 
bias  foids;  and  a  little  white  muslin  at  the  neck.  She  looked 
at  this  dress  hung  behind  the  door,  and  sighed  to  think  what 
a  poor  appearance  it  would  make  even  among  the  chorus-sing- 
let  alone  the  more  prominent  performers. 

'  Xo;  Madam  Therese,  I  will  not  try  yet;  I  must  get  a  little 
money  ahead  to  buy  at  least  a  new  dress  and  hat;  you  know 
there  is  a  great  deal  in  appearances;  one  feels  more  confidence, 
too,  in  a  nice  new  dress." 

"Ah!  that  is  too  true,  child,  in  this  profession  as  well  as 
others.  A  manager  would  sooner  help  one  who  is  independ 
ent  of  him,  can  dress  well  and  has  a  bank  account,  than  he 
would  give  the  pittance  of  a  salary  to  genius  in  poverty. 
AVheii  I  was  young  I  knew  of  a  case  that  made  a  lasting  im 
pression  on  my  memory. 


84  MINNETTE. 

"A  young  singer  who  was  a  great  favorite,  and  very  popu 
lar  on  the  stage  and  off,  got  married,  and  for  several  years  left 
the  stage.  Her  husband  having  a  long  fit  of  illness,  and  sev 
eral  little  children  claiming  her  attention,  she  could  not  re 
sume  her  profession  and  help  provide  for  her  family  as  she  so 
much  wished  to;  so  some  of  her  friends  proposed  that  she 
should  have  a  benefit;  she  should  attend  to  the  details,  and 
they  would  buy  the  tickets.  That  would  be  so  easy,  she 
thought,  as  she  had  sung  gratuitously  for  so  many;  in  fact  had 
never  refused  when  a  brother  or  sister  artist  had  claimed  her 
aid. 

"  '  They  will  do  the  same  for  me/  she  told  me,  joyously,  'for 
this  will  be  the  only  time  I  have  ever  asked  their  help,  and 
they  are  a  generous  set.'  So  she  wrote  pretty  notes,  and  with 
out  waiting  for  the  replies,  she  told  her  friends  her  benefit 
would  be  on  such  a  night.  I  had  already  studied  my  part; 
she  had  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  was  only  to  happy  to  show  her 
I  remembered  it.  I  met  her  a  few  days  after;  the  joy  had 
gone  from  her  voice  as  she  said : 

"  'Ah,  I  have  been  so  mistaken;  they  all  refuse,  politely,  of 
course — are  so  sorry,  and  all  that,  and  one  did  not  think  it 
worth  her  while  to  reply  at  all.  And  they  knew  I  needed  it 
so/  She  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  a  quick  dash  of 
her  hand,  and  went  home  to  her  sick  husband." 

"And didn't  she  have  the  benefit?  "  asked  Mimiette,  very 
much  interested. 

"No,  she  gave  it  up  in  despair,  and  by  hard  labor  got  a 
couple  of  scholars  to  whom  she  gave  singing  lessons,  often 
with  her  delicate  little  fretful  baby  in  her  arms.  I've  had 
many  a  good  cry  about  it,  though  she  was  so  brave  and  never 
uttered  a  complaint.  A  short  time  after  I  noticed  in  the  pa- 


MINNETTE.  85 

pers  a  long  list  of  names  of  those  volunteering  for  some  un 
known  person's  benefit,  and  among  them  were  the  very  ones 
who  had  such  ready  and  flimsy  excuses  for  not  singing,  when 
by  doing  so  they  would  have  been  performing  Heaven's  divine 
mission  of  charity.  It  made  her  almost  cynical  when  she  read 
it,  and  she  determined  from  that  time  she  would  ask  a  favor 
of  no  one,  but  depend  on  her  own  hands  and  brain. 

"  That's  why  I  want  you  to  leave  this  drudgery  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  lay  by  a  little  so  as  to  be  beholden  to  nobody 
for  favors." 

Mimiette  sighed;  she  had  no  reply  to  mrJce,  but  she  soon 
roused  herself,  and  said : 

"  Dear  Madam  Therese,  let  us  sing  again,  for  your  story  has 
made  me  feel  quite  sad." 

So  she  began  a  plaintive  aria  from  an  opera  that  Madam 
Therese  had  taught  her,  and  sang  it  with  all  the  pathos  her 
young  heart  felt.  The  old  lady  listened  in  pleased  surprise, 
and  let  her  finish  without  an  interruption,  quietly  wiping  the 
tears  from  her  eyes. 

Out  in  the  street  she  had  another  listener — an  old,  eccentric 
gentleman,  with  white  hair  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  and 
clothes  of  the  cut  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  He  paused 
a  moment,  then  walked  on,  then  paused  again,  returned,  and 
listened  till  the  music  ceased;  then  he  suddenly  entered  the 
house  and  ascended  the  stairs.  After  the  first  flight,  which 
was  lit  by  the  lamp  in  the  street,  all  was  darkness,  and  the  old 
gentleman  stumbled  heavily  against  a  door;  it  was  opened 
quickly,  and  a  shrill  voice  asked : 

"  What  d'ye  want?" 

"  In  what  room  does  that  girl  live  who  sings  so  sweetly?" 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  askiii'  a  respectable 


86  MINNETTE. 

woman  such  a  question.  Gray-headed,  too!  Oh,  you  shame 
less  old  sinner!"  The  frowsy  head  disappeared,  and  the  door 
was  slammed  in  his  face. 

"The  vixen's  crazy! "the  old  gentleman  muttered,  as  he 
stumbled  on  his  way  up  stairs. 

The  next  flight  was  lit  by  a  broken,  smoky  lamp.  He 
stopped  to  listen,  but  all  was  silence;  so  he  knocked  at  the 
first  door  he  came  to.  A  pleasant  face  appeared,  and  he  asked 
gently:  "  Does  the  person  who  sings  so  sweetly,  live  here?" 

"No;  she  is  a  poor  sewing-girl,  and  lives  on  the  fifth  floor." 

"  Thank  you,  madam,"  and  he  pressed  some  money  into  her 
hand. 

"Oh!  sir,  don't  pay  me  for  such  a  little  service.  I  like  the 
young  girl,  and— and  I'm  sure  you'll  be  kind  to  her,  for  you 
have  a  good  face." 

"  Do  you  know  her  name  ?  " 

"I've  heard  the  children  in  the  house  call  her  Minnette, 
and  that's  all  I  know."  Again  thanking  her  he  climbed  up 
the  rest  of  the  weary  stairs,  and  as  he  paused  at  the  top,  the 
singing  commenced  again;  he  waited  till  the  song  was  ended, 
then  knocked  at  the  door.  Minnette  started  nervously,  but 
did  not  delay  to  open  it. 

"Are  you  the  girl  that  sings  so  sweetly?"  he  asked  her, 
abruptly.  She  blushed  deeply  as  she  replied: 

"  I  sing,  sir." 

'Tut,  tut!  don't  pretend  you  don't  know  you  sing  well. 
Who's  your  teacher  ?  " 

"  Madam  Therese  is  so  kind—  But  Madam,  seeing  per 
haps  a  chance  for  business,  said:  "Minnette,  can't  you  ask 
the  gentleman  in,  and  give  him  a  chair?  He  must  need  one 
after  climbing  all  those  stairs." 


MINNKTTK.  87 

The  old  gentleman,  looked  :it.  the  grotesque  figure  that  was 
a  match  to  his  own,  and  smiled. 

"Are  you  her  mother,  madam  '.J  <l 

"  No,  sir,  I've  not  that  honor;  I'm  a  single  woman." 

He  entered,  and  Mimiette  handed  him  a  chair.  She  quietly 
s;it  on  the  l)ox  that  contained  the  wood  and  coal. 

"Are  you  an  orphan?"  Mimiette  bowed  her  head.  "Ah, 
poor  girl;  no  one  to  look  after  yon.  With  that  voice,  you 
ought  to  make  your  fortune."  Here  Madam  Therese  thought 
to  help  her  friend.  "  She  is  very  poor,  sir,  and  has  no  time  or 
money  to  take  lessons.  I  visit  her  once  a  week,  and  we  sing 
together;  that's  all  the  instruction  she  has  from  me." 

"Ah!  how  much  do  you  earn  a  week  by  sewing?" 

"About  three  dollars  and  a  half;  but  I  have  to  work  every 
moment,  and  sometimes  far  into  the  night." 

"  Three  dollars  and  a  half  !  And  what  do  you  pay  for  this 
elegant  room;  not  much,  I  should  think?" 

"  Two  dollars  a  week,  sir;  I  could  get  it  cheaper  if  I  had 
furniture  of  my  own." 

"  I  hope  they  don't  call  this  furniture!"  and  he  looked  at 
the  carpet  from  which  all  color  had  fled,  the  broken  stove,  the 
leafless  table,  the  bureau  minus  the  little  top-drawers  and 
looking-glass,  and  the  bedstead  and  clothes  old  and  faded. 

"  Rent  is  very  high  in  the  city;  if  it  was  not  for  that,  Ipoulcl 
get  along  very  well." 

"Poor  girl,  poor  girl;  with  that  voice,  too!  Madam,  how 
much  could  this  girl  live  on  without  working,  and  devote  her 
self  to  music  ?  " 

"  "Well,  sir,  do  von  mean  to  live  as  she  does  now?" 

"Tat,  tut;  this  isn't  living,  it's  only  existing;  no,  in  a  bet 
ter  neighborhood  and  lower  down." 


88  MINNETTE. 

"  Where  I  live  it's  a  little  better,  but  not  so  near  the  heart 
of  the  city;  there  she  could  get  a  much  better  room  for  twelve 
dollars  a  month,  and  on  the  third  floor,  too." 

"  Then  what  could  she  board  for?  " 

"Well,  sir,  if  my  living  would  satisfy  her,  I  could  board 
her  cheaper  than  any  one  else,  and  get  a  few  extras  for  her; 
say  three  dollars  and  a  half  a  week."  She  had  an  eye  to  busi 
ness. 

"  Well,  you  seem  kind  to  her — ' 

11  Oh,  sir,  she  is  my  only  friend!  Since  my  mother  died, 
my  life  would  indeed  have  been  dreary,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
her." 

"  Well,  well,  then  you  would  like  to  go  with  her;  you  shall, 
and  I  will  pay  for  your  lessons." 

"  Sir,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me,  but  I  give  a  few  lessons, 
being  formerly  connected  with  the  Grand  Opera." 

"  She  seems  to  have  got  along  very  well  under  your  instruc 
tion  so  far.  I'll  give  you  five  dollars  a  week  till  she  gets  be 
yond  what  you  can  teach  her,  then  I'll  see  what  is  to  done. 
Mind,  I'm  not  going  to  give  you  all  this  money,  Miss — Min- 
nette,  your  name  is,  isn't  it?  I  am  only  going  to  lend  it  you, 
till  you  become  a  great  singer,  then  I'll  trust  to  your  word 
to  pay  it  back." 

Minnette  stood  like  one  in  a  dream;  it  was  all  so  sudden, 
she  could  not  believe  but  that  it  was  some  cruel  jest,  or  that 
her  hearing  had  deceived  her. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?"  asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"Oh,    sir,   whai^can  I  say?     It  seems   like   a  glimpse  of 
Heaven  you  have  opened  to  me!     Oh,  I  thank  you  so — so — 
but  she  burst  into  tears  and  could  say  no  more. 

So  he  gave  Madam  Therese  a  twenty-dollar  bill  to  commence 


MIXNETTE.  89 

with,  got  her  receipt  for  the  same,  and  told  her  to  keep  an  ac 
count,  also  to  get  Minnette  to,  took  her  address,  gave  his  own, 
and  put  on  his  hat. 

"I  shall  come  to  see  YOU  soon;  you  had  better  move  to 
morrow.  I  leave  her  in  your  care,  madam.  Good  night!" 
and  he  was  gone  like  a  good  genius  in  a  fairy  tale. 

The  next  day  how  different  life  appeared  to  Minnette,  and 
how  strange  not  to  have  to  sit  and  sew  all  day  long. 

"  Oh,  Madam  Therese,  how  good  you  are!  If  you  had  not 
spoken  for  me  so  kindly,  I  could  not  have  said  one  word  to 
the  gentleman,  and  should  still  be  in  that  poor  room,  sewing." 

"  No,  indeed,  child,  't  was  your  voice  that  did  it;  and  now  you 
must  not  disappoint  the  gentleman,  but  study  hard,  so  that 
when  he  comes  he  shall  notice  how  you  have  improved." 

So  she  studied  long  and  faithfully  each  day,  and  helped 
Madam  Therese  in  the  work  of  her  two  little  rooms,  for  she 
said  she  must  do  something  for  exercise;  then  they  would  take 
a  long  walk  together,  and  soon  the  roses  came  into  Minnette's 
cheeks,  and  the  pitiful  look  left  her  eyes,  and  she  began  to  live. 
They  wondered  why  Mr.  Fredericks  did  not  come — that  was 
the  good  old  gentleman's  name.  More  than  two  weeks  had 
passed,  and  the  twenty  dollars  was  nearly  gone,  so  it  seemed 
as  if  it  was  going  to  turn  out  worse  than  a  dream  after  all,  for 
to  go  back  to  her  old  life  now  would  be  cruel  indeed. 

One  day  when  she  felt  particularly  well  and  happy,  and  had 
been  singing  in  very  joyousness,  her  cheek  flushed  and  her 
eyes  sparkling,  some  one  knocked  at  the  door;  it  was  Mr. 
Fredericks.  How  glad  she  was  to  see  him;  she  grasped  both 
his  hands,  and  thanked  him  again  and  again  for  his  kindness. 

"  What!  is  this  my  pale  little  girl  ?  Look  at  the  roses!  and 
how  nicely  she's  dressed,  too," — it  was  the  poor  alpaca. 


90  MINNETTE. 

"  Where's  the  old  lady  ?  "     Madam  Therese  hastened  from  the 
other  room.     "  Madam,  you've  done  well;  I  thank  you." 

"Oh!  but  hear  her  sing!"  and  the  old  lady  sat  at  the  an 
cient  piano,  and  proudly  played  the  prelude  to  one  of  the 
grand  masses  by  Beethoven,  and  Minnette  sang;  and  how  she 
sang!  The  old  gentleman  fairly  embraced  Madam  Therese  in 
delight. 

"  I  thought  I  should  not  live  in  vain!  Why  I'm  a  Christo 
pher  Columbus.  I've  discovered  greater  than  a  continent — a 
perfect  human  voice ! "  Then  he  kissed  Minnette  on  the  fore 
head,  and  told  her  she  was  a  good  girl,  and  he  was  proud  of 
her.  He  went  away  soon  after,  leaving  more  money,  saying 
he  would  not  let  it  be  so  long  before  he  came  again.  And 
Minnette  studied,  and  grew  prettier. 

In  little  over  a  week  Mr.  Fredericks  came  again,  but  Min 
nette  noticed  that  although  he  was  so  glad  to  see  her,  and  was 
as  lively  as  ever,  yet  he  appeared  to  be  suffering.  She  did  not 
like  to  ask  him  if  he  felt  ill,  but  when  he  went  away  it  troubled 
her,  for  she  began  to  love  the  old  gentleman  like  her  own 
father,  whom  she  had  lost  when  quite  young. 

Two  weeks  passed,  and  no  Mr.  Fredericks;  then  a  few  days, 
and  still  he  did  not  come. 

"Madam  Therese,  I  feel  as  if  something  was  the  matter 
with  good  Mr.  Fredericks,  and  I  am  determined  I  will  go  and 
see."  So  they  both  put  on  their  things,  and  taking  an  omni 
bus,  were  soon  at  his  door.  After  ringing  the  bell,  they  waited 
sometime  before  they  heard  a  sound.  Mimiette's  heart  turned 
sick.  Suppose  he  were  dead!  But  shuffling  footsteps  ap 
proached  the  door,  and  after  much  fumbling  with  the  key,  it 
was  finally  unlocked  and  opened. 

"Is  Mr.  Fredericks  ill?      Oh,  I  fear  he  is!"     The  woman 


MIXXKTTK.  91 

looked  at  her  strangely.      -'Be   you  a  relation  ?"  she  asked, 
slowly. 

'  Xo,  no;  but  Hove  him  like  one;  he  has  been  kind  to  me; 
tell  me  he  is  not  dead." 

A  faint  voice  called: 

•'  Mrs.  Watkins,  let  her  come  up;"  and  Miniiette  fairly  flew 
to  where  the  sound  came  from.  What  a  sight  met  her  'eyes! 
The  old  gentleman  lay  white  and  thin,  almost  to  a  skeleton. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  why  did  you  not  send  me  word  you 
were  ill  ?  I  am  so  sorry." 

'  Well,  child,  I  hoped  to  get  well  without  clouding  your 
first  bright  days,  but— but  I'm  not  so  sanguine  now.  "  I'm 
glad  you've  come;  it  seems  to  have  eased  my  pain  already." 
And  Minnette,  with  the  quick  instinct  of  a  woman,  saw  how 
desolate  the  old  man  was;  no  wife  or  child  cheered  that  house, 
she  knew  immediately;  so  taking  off  her  hat,  she  made  herself 
at  home,  and  with  Madam  Therese  made  the  room  more  home 
like  and  cheerful,  letting  in  a  little  fresh  air  and  sunshine,  for 
which  the  old  man  thanked  them. 

She  told  Mr.  Fredericks  she  intended  to  stay  there  as  long 
as  he  was  ill,  if  he  would  only  let  her,  and  she  begged  he 
would.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  he  said: 

-,  yes,  I   shall  die  happier."     Poor  Minnette   choked 
her  tears  down,  and  tried  to  speak  cheerfully: 

"  I  pray  God  that  you  will  soon  be  well,  dear,  dear  friend." 
She  flattered  and  petted  the  surly  old  housekeeper,  till  even 
she  began  to  wear  a  pleasant  face.  But  the  doctor  gave  her 
no  hopes  of  the  old  gentleman's  recovery. 

How  hard  it  is  to  watch  day  by  day  for  death  to  come,  with 
out  the  faintest  hope  of  being  able  tu  delay  his  dreaded  visit. 
Each  day  he  made  her  sing  for  him,  and  said  it  repaid  him 
a  thousand  fold  for  what  he  had  done. 


92  MINNETTE. 

On  a  beautiful,  clear  day,  as  Madam  Therese  sat  sewing  and 
Minnette  was  gently  fanning  the  invalid,  lie  said  very  faintly: 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Miimette,  and — and  sing  to  me  that 
plaintive  song  I  listened  to  in  the  street."  She  knew  what  he 
meant,  for  he  had  often  told  her  how  he  came  to  be  her  friend. 

She  sang,  but  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  so  that  she  had 
to  pause. 

"  Don't  cry,  little  one.  I've— I've  not  forgotten  you.  Sing- 
on."  And  she  sang  till  he  seemed  to  doze,  then  she  stopped; 
but  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Good-by,  Madam  Therese— take— take  care  of  her— kiss 
me,  Minnette— good  girl — "  and  as  she  kissed  him  his  spirit 
fled. 

We  have  all  sorrowed  for  the  dead;  we  know  the  sickening 
pain;  Minnette  was  nearly  heart-broken. 

When  all  was  over  a  gentleman  waited  on  her,  and  saying- 
he  was  Mr.  Fredericks'  lawyer,  read  her  his  will.  She  was  his 
heiress,  and  he  congratulated  her  011  being  possessor  of  money 
and  estates  valued  at  three  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Madam 
Therese  was  not  forgotten,  and  neither  was  the  ugly  old  house 
keeper.  He  had  left  her  several  charities  to  attend  to,  and 
said  she  could  do  as  she  pleased  about  her  future,  but  that  a 
public  life,  without  a  father  or  brother,  was  full  of  snares  and 
temptations.  So  she  took  this  as  his  dying  wish,  and  only 
sung  for  charity,  and  to  make  her  own  and  her  friends'  lives 
happy. 

She  kept  a  magnificent  establishment,  and  placed  Madam 
Therese  at  its  head  as  her  dear  second  mother. 

And  the  rain  fell  on  the  old  man's  grave,  and  Mimiette's 
tears  watered  the  flowers  that  grew  there. 


HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY. 


YOUNG  wife  sat  gazing  wistfully  into  the  fire.  That 
afternoon  a  friend  had  visited  her  whom  she  had 
known  in  her  school  days.  They  were  married,  too, 
on  the  same  night;  one  for  love,  the  other  for — well — money. 
She  had  been  dressy,  chatty  and  gay,  fairly  deluging  Ellen 
with  an  account  of  all  the  beautiful  things  she  had,  and  the 
parties  and  operas  she  had  attended. 

"  But,  then,  you  have  this  dear  little  Cupid,"  she  had  said, 
"and  he  makes  amends  for  the  lack  of  many  things,  does  he 
not  ?  " 

"Oh!  yes;  but  you  see,  my  darling  husband  (they  had  been 
married  only  a  little  over  a  year)  has  to  work  so  hard,  and  for 
such  a  pittance,  too,  he  does  not  have  time  to  even  take  his 
dinner  at  home;  and  many  a  day  I  do  not  see  him  from  early 
morning  till  late  at  night." 

"  Oh!  poor  dear!  and  see  how  hard  your  hands  are  getting; 
it  is  too  bad!  no  servant,  no  nurse,  no  pretty  dresses;  well, 
you  did  not  make  a  very  good  bargain,  after  all." 

"But  I  love  my  husband,"  she  had  answered,  sweetly;  and 
her  friend  replied : 

"  No  doubt  you  do;  but  then  you  are  so  tied  down  by  little 
Cupid  here,  that  you  can  go  nowhere  and  have  no  enjoyment 
outside  of  your  little  home;  which,  by  the  way,  is  cosy  enough, 


94  HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY. 

if  it  isn't  elegant.     But,  after  all,  I  think  I  would  rather  have 
my  half  million  than  your  baby/' 

,.So  she  had  left  her  thinking,  thinking;  and  as  her  husband 
did  not  come  Jioriie  at  the  usual  hour,  she  had  time  enough  to 
make  herself  very  miserable;  you  know  we  can  think  ourselves 
into  a-'great  deal  of  imaginary  unhappiness.  That  is  one  of 
the  ways  that  "  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still,"  etc. 

By  and  by  the  baby  woke,  and  for  once  his  cries  irritated 
her,  and  she  took  him  up  with  a  jerk  that  made  him  cry  still 
louder. 

"  Cross  baby!"  she  said  petulantly,  and  sat  down  without 
trying  to  amuse  or  feed  him.  So  he  cried  himself  to  sleep 
again,  and  she  sat  thinking,  till  she  felt  herself  a  much-abused, 
miserable  woman. 

Bap!  rap!  came  at  the  door,  and,  before  she  could  open  it, 
in  walked  an  elegant  lady. 

"  I've  come  for  the  baby,"  she  said. 

"  What  baby?  "  asked  Ellen. 

"  Why,  that,"  pointing  to  the  baby  in  her  lap.  "  Did  you 
not  wish,  just  now,  for  a  half  million  instead  of  him  ?  " 

"Oh!  no,  I " 

"You  did.  You  shall  have  the  money  to-morrow,  and  111 
take  the  baby." 

"  I  caiiiio-t,  indeed  I " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  can;  your  fine  clothes  and  parties  will  soon 
satisfy  you.  He  will  be  well  taken  care  of,"  and  the  lady  held 
out  her  arms. 

"I — I "  but  there  was  something  strange    about   the 

lady's  eyes   that  seemed  to  compel  her,  so  she  laid  the  baby 
in  her  arms. 

"  Now  get  nie  his  clothes." 


HALF  A  MILLION  (HI  THE  I5AIJY.  1)5 

She  die! 

11  Oh,  let  me  keep  a  shoe  and  stocking,  and  one  of  his  dear 
little  shirts,"  she  asked,  pitifully. 

"  Not  one,"  the  lady  replied. 

"  Just  his  little  stocking,  then,"  she  pleaded.     "  I've  k 
his  little  feet  so  often.     Only  his  little  stocking!" 

So  the  lady  Hung  a  shoe,  stocking  and  shirt  into  her  lap, 
and  was  gone. 

She  ran  to  the  window  to  call  her  back,  for  she  did  not  even 
know  her  name,  or  where  she  could  go  to  see  her  baby.  But 
too  late!  She  sat  down  again,  very,  very  miserable,  till  her 
thoughts  turned  to  the  promised  half  million. 

Xo\v  her  dear  husband  would  not  have  to  work  so  hard. 
She  could  have  him,  too,  every  evening.  Then  what  little 
cozy  dinners  they  would  have.  "  Hal "  was  fond  of  something 
nice,  but  he  didn't  get  it  often,  poor  fellow.  "His  old 
mother,  dear  soul,  shall  come  and  live  with  us.  I  can  get 
along  with  her,  if  she  is  my  mother-in-law.'' 

S<>  she  mused.  Then  her  friend's  highly-colored  pictures 
of  balls,  operas  and  parties  came  into  her  mind,  and  she 
thought  she  would  enjoy  them,  too. 

A  quick  step  aroused  her.  "  Oh,  what  will  Harry  say?'' 
And  she  turned  pale  as  she  jumped  up  to  give  her  kiss  of  wel 
come. 

The  shoe,  stocking  and  shirt  fell  to  the  floor. 

c  •  Ah !     Just  put  old  Chub  to  bed  V  " 
«I_" 

"  Well,  wifey,  kept  you  waiting,  haven't  I?  Couldn't  help 
it.  They  are  so  busy  at  the  store.  I'm  hungry,  I  can  tell  you. 
Haven't  had  time  to  eat  since  breakfast." 

So  Ellen  took  the  frying-pan  from  the  fender  and  put  it 


96  HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY. 

back  on  the  fire  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  saucepan  with 
the  potatoes,  so  they  were  soon  smoking-  hot  on  his  plate,  and 
he  ate  with  a  will,  but  she  scarcely  tasted  anything  except 
half  a  cup  of  tea. 

' '  What's  the  matter,  Nell  ?  Been  hungry  so  long  that 
you've  lost  your  appetite  ?  Don't  wait  so  long,  pet,  another 
time." 

"  You  know,  Harry,  that— I — don't  like  to  eat  without  you; 
the  food  doesn't  taste  near  so  good." 

11  How  quiet  Chub  sleeps.  He  doesn't  even  move;  and  he's 
terrible  at  that;  takes  after  you,  pet,  eh?"  And  he  laugh 
ingly  pinched  her  chin.  But  she  could  not  smile. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  you  to-night;  not  ill,  are 
you,  Nell?" 

"Oh,  it's  nothing;  I—" 

"Just  a  little  blue,  eh?  Because  I  did  not  come  home 
sooner?  You'll  get  over  it  in  a  minute  or  two." 

And  he  walked  to  the  cradle  and  put  back  the  little  lace 
curtains  that  she  had  knit. 

"Not  here?  Oh,  you've  put  him  in  our  bed.  Old  rascal, 
I'll  catch  your  little  toes."  And  he  moved  his  hand  gently  up 
the  bed,  but  the  cold  sheet  was  all  he  touched.  A  thrill  ran 
through  him.  "  Ellen,  where's  the  baby  ?  " 

"Oh!  Harry,  you  know  we  are  so  poor,  and  you  have  to 
work  so  to  keep  us  all,  that  I — I — 

' '  My  God !  you  have  not  killed  him  ?  " 

"Oh!  no,  no;  but — but — " 

' '  What  have  you  done  with  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  Belle  was  here,  and  told  me  what  beautiful  things 
she  had — and — 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  the  baby  ?  " 


HALF  A  MILLION  OR  TMK  P,AI>,V.  97 

"lhave  sold  him!" 

Harry  burst  out  laughing.  "  Now  I  know  you  are  playing. 
Eeally,  YOU  frightened  me  at  first."  But  she  told  him  the 
whole  story,  and  showed  him  the  empty  drawer.  Then  he 
asked  the  lady's  name,  and  where  she  lived,  so  that  he  could 
go  immediately  and  get  the  baby  back  again.  But  when  she 
knew  neither  her  name  or  residence,  he  cried:  "We  have 
been  robbed!  "  and  walked  the  rioor  like  a  man  distracted. 

What  a  miserable  night  they  passed  in  tears,  reproaches 
and  regrets.  The  morning  came  at  last,  as  it  always  does,  no 
matter  how  wretched  we  are,  and  with  it  soon  came  the  post 
man.  He  handed  Ellen  a  letter  sealed  with  black.  An  uncle 
had  died  in  the  Indies  and  left  her  half  a  million ! 

"  Now  if  Chub,  my  Chub,  were  only  here,  this  might  make 
us  happy." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  I  would  crawl  on  my  hands  and  knees  a  thou 
sand  miles  to  get  him  back;  but  it  is  too  late." 

So  they  moved  into  a  stately  house,  and  Belle  came  to  con 
gratulate  them,  and  she  took  Ellen— whom  she  would  call 
Ellenore  now— under  her  especial  care,  bringing  her  dress 
makers,  hairdressers,  jewelers,  dancing  master,  everything 
necessary  to  convert  her  into  a  fashionable  lady. 

Harry  went  into  business,  but  grew  paler  every  clay. 
Ellen  went  to  balls,  parties,  theaters,  everywhere,  to  drown 
the  voice  of  conscience;  but  Harry  steadily  refused  to  accom 
pany  her.     So  Belle  was  her  constant  friend  and  companion. 
Harry  grew  so  absent-minded  and  unfit  for  business  that  he 
soon  failed,  and  lost  all  the  capital  lie  had  invested  in  it. 

But  Ellen  seemed  mad  for  excitement,  and  gave  great  din 
ners  and  masquerades,  so  that  her  house  became  the  most 
popular  in  town.     But  Harry  always  kept  his  room.     She  was 
7 


98  HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY. 

the  belle  wherever  she  went.  Her  wit,  beauty  and  amiability 
were  the  theme  of  every  tongue ;  but  a  great  sorrow  lay  deep 
hidden  away  in  her  heart,  the  loss  of  her  baby.  Harry 
brooded  over  it,  while  she  tried,  by  her  wild  pleasures,  only 
to  stop  that  terrible  thinking,  thinking,  which  one  beloved 
preacher  said  he  believed  to  be  the  punishment  of  the  great 
hereafter. 

The  time  came  when  Harry  could  not  leave  his  bed;  then 
Ellen  showed  herself  the  most  devoted  and  patient  of  wives. 
Harry  had  thought  her  heartless,  and  his  love  had  nearly  died 
out;  but  her  devotion  revived  it,  as  a  breath  will  a  dying  em 
ber.  One  morning  he  said  to  her: 

"Pet,  I  dreamed  last  night  of  Chub.  He  seemed  to  be 
waiting  for  me  on  the  bank  of  a  dark  river.  The  halo  of  the 
light  that  surrounded  him  made  the  way  clear,  and  I  passed 
over  fearlessly.  I  can  die  willingly  now,  Nell/' 

"Oh!  darling,  darling,  stay  with  me  a  little  longer,  for  when 
you  are  gone  the  world  will  be  a  terrible  place  to  live  in." 
And  she  shuclderingly  hid  her  face  in  the  bed-clothes. 

"  Why,  Nell,  I  thought  the  half  million  brought  you  great 
happiness,  and  that  poor  Chub  was  even  less  to  you  than  as  if 
he  had  never  been." 

"  Oh,  Hal,  I've  hid  away  my  sorrow  from  earthly  eyes.  But 
One  has  seen  it.  He  has  heard  my  heart  cry  out  to  Him  in  the 
stillness  of  the  night.  But,  darling,  I  did  not  wish  to  add  to 
your  sufferings.  And  so  you  thought  me  heartless;  I  know 
you  did,  but  I  was  only  trying  not  to  think." 

"  Nell,  do  you  know,  I  think  he  is  dead." 

She  gave  a  low  cry,  but  it  told  the  death  of  the  hope  she 
had  had  of  one  day  finding  him. 

Harry  lingered  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  breathed  his  last 


HAM'  A   MILLION  OR  THE  BABY.  99 

;is  gently  ;is  a  child.  Belle  came  to  console  poor  Ellen,  and 
as  soon  as  possible  hurried  her  away  to  the  continent.  She 
looked  very  pale,  and  was  so  nervous  that  she  could  not  remain 
two  (lays  in  one  place.  Here  her  agent  wrote  that  she  had 
better  be  a  little  careful,  as  the  money  was  diminishing  very 
fast.  But  she  answered  back  "  not  to  annoyher,"  as  she  hated 
money  matters. 

When  her  year  of  mourning  was  over,  Belle  led  her  into  all 
sorts  of  follies  and  extravagances.  Again  her  agent  wrote 
she  must  retrench,  as  some  of  his  speculations  for  her  had 
proved  failures;  but  she  did  not  heed  his  advice,  till  one  day 
her  check  was  refused,  and  she  had  to  sell  her  diamonds  to 
get  home.  There  her  agent  called  on  her  with  the  unpleasant 
intelligence  that  her  house  was  to  be  sold  the  next  day,  and 
there  was  not  money  enough  left  to  buy  it  in. 

A  thousand  dollars  and  a  few  fine  dresses  were  all  she  had 
now  of  her  half  million.  As  she  had  no  particular  talent  for 
anything  by  which  she  could  earn  her  living,  she  went  to  a 
boarding-house  and  there  stayed  till  the  money  and  dresses 
were  gone  and  she  had  but  five  dollars  in  her  purse. 

At  last  she  seemed  to  feel  the  necessity  of  doing  something; 
so  she  hired  a  room — you  can  imagine  how  miserable  it  was 
furnished — and  tried  to  get  sewing  to  do,  that  next  resort  to 
suicide  with  many;  but  it  was  hard  to  get  and  ill-paid.  So 
many  a  day  she  went  hungry.  Belle  had  lost  sight  of  her,  so 
she  had  no  friend  to  go  to.  "  No  sewing  to  be  got."  What 
would  she  try  next  ?  "Washing  ?  How  she  shuddered  at 
the  thought.  She  looked  at  her  hands.  They  were  white  and 
small,  and  but  a  year  ago  were  almost  covered  with  diamonds. 
She  looked  in  the  glass.  Her  beauty  had  faded.  Alas!  un- 
happiness  is  a  worse  blighter  than  time. 


100  HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY. 

Poor  little  sad-eyed  woman.  From  flattery  and  satins  to 
dry  bread  and  the  wash-tub !  What  a  change ! 

Washing  was  very,  very  hard  for  her,  as  she  was  not  strong. 
But  she  could  get  enough  of  it  to  do  to  keep  her  from  the 
sharp  pangs  of  hunger.  That  was  something. 

One  night,  as  she  sat  by  her  scanty  fire  after  a  hard  day's 
work,  her  poor  hands  torn  and  bleeding  by  the  pins  the  chil 
dren  would  leave  in  their  clothes,  she  thought  of  the  past. 

"Oh!  if  I  had  only  been  contented  with  the  happiness  I 
had — it  seems  a  heaven  to  look  back  to — and  had  kept  my 
dear  baby,  he  would  be  a  help  to  me  now.  He  would  not  let 
his  poor  mother  wash  her  life  away,  and  my  poor  darling  Harry 
would  never  have  grieved  himself  to  death.  I  should  have 
been  a  happy  wife,  instead  of  a  poor,  lonely  widow.  But  re 
pentance  comes  too  late."  And  the  tears  fell  on  her  hand. 

That,  and  a  loud  knock,  aroused  her.  She  rubbed  her  eyes. 
She  had  put  the  baby  back  and  fallen  asleep. 

It  is  her  own  cosy  little  home;  yes,  and  there's  the  cradle, 
and  that's  Harry's  knock.     Thank  God!  it  is  but  a  dream. 
"Hal,  Hal!  Chub's  not«old;  here  he  is!" 
And  she   dragged  her  husband  to  the  cradle.     "  See  him! 
And  there's  his  little  feet."     And  she  pulled  the  covering  off 
him,  and  kissed  them  so  violently  that  he  woke  up  with  a 
laugh. 

She  caught  him  in  her  arms,  then  pulled  Harry  to  the 
bureau.  ' '  See,  there's  his  clothes.  The  lady  hasn't  got  them; 
indeed  she  hasn't.  There's  shoes,  stockings,  shirts  and  all! 
You  needn't  die  of  grief.  Hal,  I'll  never,  never  sell  him." 

"Why,  Nell,  what's  the  matter?  Have  you  gone  wild? 
Who  want's  to  buy  old  nuisance  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  lady.     She  took  him  away.     Oh,   Hal,  I  was 


HALF  A  MILLION  OR  THE  BABY.  101 

dreaming1  such  a  dreadful,  dreadful  dream.  JLet  me<see  if  my 
hair  hasn't  turned  white." 

And  she  looked  into  the  glass,  but  tlie,  )hAir^afe\ris;bfrown 
and  curly  as  ever,  and  the  eyes  as  roguish. 

"  You  won't  have  to  dye  it  yet,  Nell.  You  liked  to  take  my 
breath  away.  I  thought  you  were  getting  a  little — 

"  But,  Hal,  the  dream  was  so  vivid  that  it  seemed  impossi 
ble  for  it  to  be  anything  but  reality."  And  she  told  it  to  him, 
till  he,  too,  lost  his  smile  and  looked  pale. 

"  We'll  value  Chub  all  the  more  now,  won't  we,  Nell?"  and 
he  kissed  the  little  fellow;  "  and  you  wouldn't  really  sell  him 
for  half  a  million  ?  " 

"Not  for  twenty  millions!  Give  me  your  love  and  my 
baby,  and  I  would  not  change  places  with  the  richest  woman 
in  the  world! " 


THE  VAIN  NASTURTIUM. 

y 

NCE  upon  a  time  a  nasturtium  grew  in  the  garden  of  an 
elegant  house,  but  its  face  was  turned  toward  the 
great,  great  white  wall,  and  as  it  did  not  look  around, 
it  saw  no  beauty  in  its  life.  But  the  wall  was  made  of  wood, 
and  through  the  cracks  the  nasturtium  could  look  into  the 
back-yard  of  a  neighbor's  house. 

"Ah,  I  should  be  happy  if  fate  had  only  permitted  me  to 
grow  there,  the  companion  of  those  pretty  rosy-cheeked  chil 
dren,  and  that  busy,  merry  little  woman." 

So  she  looked  and  sighed,  and  the  more  the  children  laughed 
and  the  woman  sang,  the  more  discontented  she  became. 
But  she  never  turned  her  head  to  see  the  beautiful  flowers 
around  her,  or  the  stately  house,  or  the  lovely  lady  who  swept 
like  a  queen  down  the  gravel-walks. 

"  Oh,  what  a  life  to  lead  this  is!  "  she  cried,  one  warm  sum 
mer's  day;  "  this  great  bare  wall,  so  white  and  blinding,  al 
ways  before  me,  with  the  reflected  sun  scorching  my  face,  no 
tender  hand  to  caress  me,  no  loving  eyes  to  admire  my  hand 
some  dress.  Ah!  well,  I  wish  I  was  dead  and  out  of  it!  " 

But  one  day,  when  the  wind  blew  gently,  she  discovered, 
oh,  joy!  a  knot-hole! 

"Ah!  now,  now,  if  the  kind  wind  will  only  assist  me,  I  shall 


THK  VAIN  XASTl  RTir.M.  103 

have  my  wish!  "  Then  she  said  in  the  sweetest  voice  she  could 
command: 

"  Miv  Zephyr,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  blow  very  gently 
while  I  make  a  short  journey?" 

So  the  wind  promised;  but  she  soon  found  that  the  hole 
was  too  small,  and  her  face  came  very  near  being  cut  b}~  the 
sharp  edge  of  the  wood.  Then  Zephyr  turned  her  gently  and 
told  her  to  try  again.  So  she  closed  her  eyes  hard,  as  one 
having  a  tooth  drawn;  but  finding  she  passed  through  un 
harmed,  she  opened  them  quickly,  and  in  her  surprise  and  de 
light  she  forgot  even  to  thank  the  gentle  Zephyr,  who  was 
standing  hat  in  hand,  waiting  for  it. 

"  Oh,  what  .a  pretty  place!  Look  at  the  lovely  green  grass, 
and  those  pretty  pink  flowers,  and  those  queer  things  in  that 
cage;  then  how  nice  and  cool  it  is,  with  no  great,  ugly,  white 
wall  before  me! "  So  she  danced  and  sang  for  very  joy. 

"Oh,  mamma,  mamma,  see,  see! "'cried  a  soft,  childish 
voice.  "  Oh,  the  pretty,  pretty  flower!" 

How7  sweet  this  sounded  to  her  ear;  she  felt  she  was  pretty, 
but  this  was  the  first  time  any  one  had  ever  said  so. 

"Please,  mamma,  let  me  pick  it?"  and  the  little  fingers 
were  closed  upon  her  slender  stem,  when  she  shrank  back  in 
terror;  was  her  life  that  was  just  becoming  so  beautiful  to  be 
ended  thus  ?  But  the  mother's  voice  answered  quickly: 

"No,  dear,  let  the  pretty  flower  be;  it  looks  so  bright  and 
lively,  and  will  last  a  long  time,  if  it  is  let  alone." 

"  I  love  you  ever  so  much,  and  you're  a  real  pretty  lady,  a 
real  lady!"  cried  the  nasturtium.  Biit  the  little  woman  did 
not  understand  flower  talk,  so  was  none  the  wiser  for  her 
good  opinion.  Soon  a  little  baby,  the  one  she  had  admired  so, 
came  toddling  on  the  grass.  Ugh!  how  near  its  little  snatch- 


104  THE  VAIN  NASTURTIUM. 

ing  hands  came !  She  thought  that  distance  lent  enchantment 
there,  at  least. 

"Ah!  baby  musn't  touch  the  beautiful  flower;  mamma  likes 
to  see  it." 

Beautiful!  She  blushed  at  the  word,  till  her  yellow  leaves 
became  like  velvet,  and  her  stripes  as  black  and  shiny  as  a 
tiger  skin. 

The  next  morning,  she  opened  her  eyes  bright  and  early. 
What  a  lovely  sky!  and  see  the  dew-drops  on  her  brother 
leaves ! 

"  Ah!  could  I  but  once  see  myself!  "  she  said,  and  bending 
gently  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  little  drop  that  nestled  so 
round  and  bright  in  the  center  of  a  leaf,  she  saw  her  face. 

"Am  I  not  lovely?"  she  cried,  and  being  so  confused  with 
vanity  and  pleasure,  she  jostled  the  leaf  and  shook  the  dew- 
drop,  till  she  saw  her  beautiful  form  so  horrijoly  distorted 
that  she  drew  back  in  fright. 

"  I  won't  look  in  there  again!"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  re 
lief,  as  examining  her  dress,  she  saw  it  was  as  beautiful  as 
ever. 

Now  the  children  came  again  into  the  garden,  and  it  was  as 
much  as  little  Hal  could  do  to  keep  the  baby's  fingers  from 
destroying  the  now  nervous,  anxious  flower. 

"I  don't  like  baby  one  bit! "  she  said  to  herself,  as  Hal  had 
caught  his  hand  after  he  had  given  her  a  disagreeably  tight 
squeeze. 

"  Children,  don't  pick  those  flowers;  they  are  coming  out 
fast,  and  I  want  to  pickle  them  when  then  are  ripe,"  called  the 
little  woman  from  the  tub  where  she  was  washing  out  some 
little  things  for  the  baby,  and  an  old  towel  or  two. 

"Pickle  flowers!  Why,  mamma!"  cried  Hal,  in  incredu 
lous  astonishment. 


THE  VAIN   NASTURTIUM.  105 

"  AVcll,  not  exactly  the  flower — ah,  she  was  relieved  again — 
"  but  the  little  seed  that  is  left  when  the  leaves  fall  off;  they 
make  very  nice  pickles,  boiled  in  vinegar." 

Oh,  horror!  was  that  to  be  her  fate?  When  her  beauty  was 
gone— could  it  ever  go?— she  was  to  be  thrust  ignominiously 
into  the  pickle-pot!  She  shook  in  terror,  and  looked  around 
for  some  way  of  escape;  then  for  the  first  time  she  saw  through 
the  cracks  and  knot-hole  the  beautiful  home  she  had  left.  No 
teasing  children  there;  no  frowsy,  ugly  woman  hanging  out 
ragged  towels,  and  waiting  impatiently  to  pop  her  into  the 
detested  pickle-pot ! 

'  "Ah!  one  never  knows  when  they're  well  off,"  she  cried; 
,"  but  here  I'll  never  stay,  not  if  I—"  and  she  thrust  her  head 
forward  with  all  her  might;  but  alas!  she  had  grown  too  large, 
and  the  knot-hole  tore  her  beautiful  skin  and  bruised  her 
shamefully. 

"  Never  mind,"  she -cried,  winking  the  tears  from  her  eye, 
"  I  am  still  the  most  beautiful  flower  here,  with  my  velvet  dress 
and  yellow  fringe.  The  most  fashionable,  too!"  she  added, 
almost  crying. 

"  Oh,  mamma!  see  how  the  wind  has  torn  the  poor  flower. 
May  I  pick  it?  It's  of  no  use." 

She  both  loved  and  hated  little  Hal,  as  she  waited  breath 
less  for  the  reply. 

(f  Let  me  see,"  said  the  little  woman,  wiping  her  hands  on 

her  apron.     Ugh!  how   they    did    smell   of  suds  when    they 

touched  her.     ' '  No,  no;  I  think  it  will  still  be  good  to  pickle.'' 

Ah !  that  hateful  pickle-pot.     Again  and  again  she  tried  to 

thrust  herself  into  her  former  home. 

"I  won't  stay  with  those  dirty-faced,  ugly  children,  and 
that  mean,  stingy  woman."  But  each  trial  only  tore  her  coat 
afresh,  and  left  her  bruised  and  bleeding. 


106  THE  VAIN  NASTURTIUM. 

A  storm  came  up;  liow  thankful  she  was;  how  the  rain-drops 
cooled  her  poor  body — the  rain  that  she  used  to  despise;  then 
when  it  cleared  off,  she  saw  the  beautiful  rainbow,  and  heard 
the  delighted  shouts  of  the  children.  A  little  puddle  of  water 
had  settled  beneath  her,  and  she  looked  down.  What  was 
that  ugly,  ragged  thing  she  saw  ?  Surely  not  her  beautiful 
self! 

"Mamma,  now  may  I  pick  the  flower?  See  how  broken  it 
is;  it  is  not  pretty  for  you  to  look  at  any  more/'  cried  Hal. 
The  mother  looked,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Yes,  it'll  never  ripen  now;  it's  no  use." 

"  Thank  goodness,  I've  escaped  the  pickle—'  but  before 
she  could  finish,  the  little  hand  closed  tightly  round  and  tore 
her  from  the  stem;  in  a  few  moments  she  was  dashed  vio 
lently  into  the  puddle  with  a  contemptuous  laugh ! 

"  I  don't  want  the  ugly  old  flower;  it's  no  use."  The  water 
gurgled  in  her  ears,  then  Hal's  little  paddling  feet  crushed  her 
into  the  mud,  and  she  knew  no  more. 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 


- 


/Jf  T  was  in  "  Merrie  England''—  that  land  of  true  homes, 
where  families  are  large,  and  where  the  pleasures  of 
domestic  life  are  sufficiently  attractive  to  keep  the 
children  there  (at  least  for  many  years),  and  the 
head  of  the  house  indulges  in  a  big  easy  chair,  a  newspaper, 
a  game  of  chess,  or  whist,  pleasant  conversation,  and  an  oc 
casional  game  with  the  children,  and  is  not  perpetually  absent 
at  the  "  Lodge/'  but  is  a  part  of  home,  as  the  clear  mother  is, 
and  inseparable  in  the  mind  of  the  wanderer  from  every  picture 
of  that  loved  spot  —  it  was  here,  some  Christmas  ago,  that  six 
sisters,  all  in  the  pride  of  youth,  health  and  happiness,  made 
to  each  other  a  pledge,  and  this  was  their  pledge: 

'w  AVe,  the  undersigned,  six  sisters,  do  hereby  pledge  our- 
.  selves  to  either  meet,  six  years  from  this  date,  at  our  old 
homestead,  or  to  write  our  various  life  histories  during  that 
time,  to  be  read  to  those  assembled. 

"BLANCHE,  EFFIE, 

"EDWINA,  MADGE, 

"LAURA,  MARY/' 

The  six  years  had  passed,  and  the  evening  appointed  for 
the  meeting  had  arrived.  The  old  homestead  was  brilliantly 


108  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

lighted,  the  father  and  mother  in  their  accustomed  places,  the 
same  dear  father  and  mother,  only  a  little  grayer,  a  little 
nearer  the  other  world.  They  waited  for  their  six  dear  girls, 
or  tidings  of  them,  for,  thank  God,  none  were  dead,  and  they 
had  ceased  to  repine  that  no  son  had  come  to  bless  their  love, 
and  perpetuate  their  name;  they  only  prayed  for  the  happiness 
of  their  dear  girls,  and  then  to  die  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 
The  bell  rang,  and  Blanche  entered  in  all  her  regal  beauty. 
She  received  her  parents'  kisses  with  dutiful  submission,  but 
her  nature  was  cold  and  calculating,  and  the  loving  mother 
stood  almost  in  awe  of  her  beautiful  first-born.  The  bell 
again,  and  Madge,  the  light-hearted  rattle-brain  of  the  family, 
rushed  into  her  parents'  arms,  and  almost  covered  their  faces 
with  kisses,  then  gave  Blanche  a  bear-bug. 

"Why,  Madge,  one  would  think  we  had  not  seen  you  for 
years,  instead  of  hours,"  reproved  Blanche. 

"Forgive   me,  lady  queen,"  and  Madge  knelt,  and  kissed 
her  hand  in  mock  humility. 

"Who  have  you  received  letters  from,  ma?"  asked  Blanche. 

"  From  Erne  and  Laura,  but  have  heard  nothing  of  Mary, 

so  I  am  in  hopes  of  seeing  the  dear  child,  for  she  promised 

she  would  come  or  send,  and  she  always  keeps  her  word;  yet 

we  have  not  heard  from  her  for  so  long  that  I  fear — 

"  Dear  ma,  don't  fear  anything  till  this  night  is  over.  You 
don't  know  at  what  hour  she  may  come/'  and  Madge  kissed 
the  tears  away,  that  were  just  trembling  on  the  dear  eye-lids. 
Again  the  bell  rang,  and  Edwin  a,  the  demure  -  little  widow, 
entered  with  her  two  children,  embraced  her  mother,  and 
then  gently  kissed  the  others.  Blanche's  little  girl  came 
directly  with  her  nurse. 

The  dinner  hour  was  set  for  six   o'clock,  then  the  children 


THi;  SISTF.KS'  I'LKDGE.  109 

were  told  to  go  to  the  old  nursery  and  amuse  themselves, 
while  their  elders  returned  io  the  parlor,  and,  after  those 
present  had  told  their  stories,  the  letters  from  the  others  were 
to  be  road. 

The  holly  gleamed  on  the  walls,  and  the  mistletoe  shone 
pale  above  the  chandelier.  The  roast  beef  was  large  and 
juicy,  the  Christmas  pudding  in  a  flame  and  full  of  plums, 
the  children  delighted. 

' '  If  it  was  not  for  what  is  to  come  aft  er  dinner,  I  believe  I 
should  have  liked  a  few  cavaliers  at  this  feast — for,  you  know, 
dear  people,  I'm  the  only  marriageable  lady  of  the  party." 

"  You  forget  Edwina,"  remarked  Blanche. 

"  Blanche  I"  said  the  sister  alluded  to,  in  a  deprecatory 
tone. 

"Beg  pardon,  Ed.,  for  being  so  selfish;  but  you  know  I 
have  to  think  of  myself,  as  I  am  getting  rather  on  the — the, 
as  they  say—" 

"  The  old  maid  list,  ma  says,"  spoke  up  Regina,  Blanche's 
only  child. 

•''Regina!"  and  Blanche  blushed  with  vexation. 

"  Oh,  never  mind;  that's  a  good  warning,  Reggie.  So  I 
must  hurry  up,  for  I'm — let  me  see,  nearly  five  and  twenty. 
Good  gracious!  I  shall  soon  be  an  old  maid,  sure  enough!" 

But  underneath  all  the  merriment  there  was  a  little  anxiety, 
a  little  expectation  perceptible.  The  dinner  over,  the  chil 
dren  were  sent  to  the  nursery  with  Regina's  nurse,  and  that 
young  lady  regaled  them  with  numerous  ghost  stories  till 
they  were  afraid  to  look  around.  But  Regina  imperiously  de 
manded  that  the  candles  should  be  lit,  as  she  didn't  like  only 
the  fire-light,  and  when  she  was  obeyed,  the  other  children 
were  greatly  relieved;  but  the  nurse  said: 


HO  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

"  Miss  Reggie,  I  shan't  tell  you  any  more  nice  ghost  stories, 
for  they're  nothing  with  the  lights  lit."  But  the  little  lady 
said: 

"  "Well,  tell  us  a  love  story,  then,  and  I'll  give  you  one  of 
my  ribbons." 

So  they  heard  all  sorts  of  adventures,  in  which  Miss  Rose, 
as  she  told  the  other  children,  knowing  they  were  poor,  to 
call  her,  was  the  heroine. 

In  the  cosy  parlor,  also  decorated  writh  holly  and  mistletoe, 
for  Christmas  in  England  would  not  seem  like  Christmas  with 
out  them,  sat  the  three  sisters  and  their  parents.  They  were 
so  quiet  that  the  ticking  of  the  clock  sounded  loud,  and  the 
snap  and  crackle  of  the  coal  was  heard. 

"I  suppose  you  are  waiting  for  me  to  commence,  as  I  am 
the  eldest;  but  what  is  the  use,  you  all  know  my  history  for 
all  my  life  past,  let  alone  the  past  six  years." 

"O,  ho!  Blanche,  that  won't  do,  or  I  shall  not  tell  mine, 
and  you  don't  know  what  you'll  lose." 

Blanche  smiled  sarcastically  at  Madge,  and  said:  "Well, 
you  all  remember  I  was  married  just  one  year  and  a  few  days 
when  we  made  that  pledge;  that  I  married  well,  and  that  my 
husband  has  continued  to  prosper  in  business;  that  I  have 
everything  that  a  lady  could  wish,  and  that  my  dear  Kegina 
was  born  nearly  six  years  ago." 

"And  is  that  all  your  history  for  so  many  years?"  asked 
Madge,  disappointedly.  "  If  I  don't  have  any  more  romance 
than  that  after  I'm  married,  I  rather  think  I'll  remain  an  old 
maid." 

Could  she  have  looked  into  her  sister's  heart,  she  would 
have  seen  that  she  married  for  money,  only  a  mild  respect  for 
her  husband  taking  the  place  of  that  deep  affection  which 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  Ill 

alone  makes  a  woman  happy;  that  her  love  for  her  child  was 
more  pride  of  her  beauty  and  cleverness  than  the  affection, 
which  is  almost  pain,  that  a  mother  feels  who  nurses  her  baby 
at  her  breast,  and  tends  to  all  its  little  wants,  watching  it  in 
sickness  and  in  health,  without  the  intervention  of  a  nurse; 
that  the  void  in  her  proud  heart  was  tilled  with  the  love  of 
dress,  and  making  a  grand  display  before  the  world;  and 
Madge  was  right;  for  such  a  use  of  all  the  grand  opportun 
ities  which  God  gives,  is  but  a  sorry  working  out  of  destiny. 
It  is  to  famish  at  the  richest  banquet;  to  die  of  thirst  sailing 
on  the  clearest  stream. 

After  a  pause,  Edwina  spoke: 

"I  was  married  nine  years  ago,  to  an  American.  My  hus 
band  was  good-natured  and  handsome,  very  entertaining,  and 
a  great  favorite  with  the  gentlemen.  I  loved  him  very  much. 
V/hen  he  had  money  he  was  most  liberal,  but  sometimes  we 
were  unfortunate,  but  never  really  suffered;  still  wTe  could 
save  nothing;  so  that  wrhen  he  died  a  year  ago,  and  left  me 
with  our  two  children,  we  suffered  severely  till  my  dear 
parents  heard  of  it.  We  were  in  America  at  the  time,  where 
the  people  are  kind  and  good,  but  very  erratic;  helping  any 
one  in  distress  one  day,  filling  their  larder  to  overflowing,  but 
forgetting  them  011  the  next,  some  new  interest  attracting 
their  attention.  I  tried  to  turn  my  little  knowledge  of  paint 
ing  to  account,  but  found  there  was  a  great  difference  between 
the  value  and  beauty  of  a  picture  that  you  give  away,  and  the 
same  thing  when  you  try  to  sell  it;  so  I  reluctantly  tried  to 
color  photographs,  thinking,  perhaps,  it  would  be  easier  to 
gain  a  living  by  something  that  touched  people's  vanity  than 
by  appealing  to  their  taste.  But  it  was  hard  work;  the  pro 
prietors  of  galleries  expecting  a  large  picture  '  touched  up/ 


112  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

which  really  meant  painted  all  over,  for  the  meagre  sum  of  a 
dollar  and  a  half,  and  very  small  photographs,  partially 
colored,  for  ten  cents;  and  living  was  so  dear  that  we  had 
hard  times,  as  they  say  in  that  country,  till  my  dear  parents 
sent  me  money  to  bring  us  back  to  England,  where  I  am 
now  doing  very  well." 

Madge  thought  married  life  could  not  be  so  very  fascinating 
after  all.  Yet  Edwina  had  had  her  little  romance.  She  had 
married  for  love,  and  had  loved  her  husband  till  the  last.  Yet 
she  was  not  blind  to  his  faults,  though  she  never  spoke  but 
kindly  of  him,  and  would  not  have  allowed  any  one  else  to 
even  think  differently,  if  she  could  have  helped  it.  He  was,  as 
she  had  said,  a  handsome,  good-natured  man. 

He  was  desperately  in  love  with  her  before  marriage,  but, 
like  so  many  men,  had  ceased  to  be  demonstrative  after  that 
interesting  ceremony,  and  to  a  sensitive  woman,  who  listens 
for  a  loving  word,  watches  for  a  tender  smile,  or  a  half -uncon 
scious  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  listens  and  watches  in  vain, 
it  is  but  poor  recompense  to  be  told  by  the  one  almost  wor 
shiped  that  he  is  not  demonstrative.  Some  men  make  a 
boast  of  their  undemoiistrativene'ss,  and  consider  it  quite  a 
virtue,  when  it  does  more  to  lose  them  the  love  of  their  wives 
than  drunkenness  and  gambling  combined.  Well,  Edwina's 
husband  was  undemonstrative,  or,  in  plainer  words,  selfish. 
He  could  have  a  larger  audience  of  grown  people  to  listen  to 
his  anecdotes  and  adventures  at  the  "  Lodge  " — wherever  that 
mysterious  place  may  be — than  with  his  wife  and  little  ones; 
so  to  the  "  Lodge"  he  went,  and  so  often  that  it  was  a  mys 
tery  why  he  never  became  tired.  When  he  did  remain  by  his 
own  fireside,  and  awake,  the  children  were  delighted,  and  lis 
tened  in  open-mouthed  wonder  to  his  lively  stories,  and  the 
wife  thought  there  was  still  something  beautiful  in  life. 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  H;j 

If  the  most  trivial  tiling  engrossed  his  attention  at  meal 
times  he  only  thought  of  himself,  and  did  not  consider  the 
keeping  of  those  at  home  waiting  and  hungry  for  several 
hours  of  the  least  moment,  and  when  remonstrated  with  about 
it,  would  reply: 

"  Well,  dear,  eat;  I  am  sure  I  would  not  go  hungry  with 
plenty  to  eat  in  the  house." 

"But  it  is  not  like  home  to  eat  our  meals  without  you;  I'd 
rather  the  dinner  were  ever  so  poor  and  you  here,  than  the 
finest  feast  and  you  absent."  This  should  have  nattered  any 
man  who  looked  beyond  the  gratification  of  the  whim  of  the 
moment,  who  realized  that  his  happiness  was  in  his  wife's  keep 
ing,  that  she  could  make  home  very  uncomfortable  if  she  Avas 
driven  to,  which  many  women  are,  when  the  husband,  having 
had  his  own  way  so  many  years,  thinks  he  is  quite  secure. 
And  so  they  had  lived  for  several  years,  the  wife's  enthusiasm 
gradually  diminishing  as  the  truth,  the  bitter  truth,  was  forced 
upon  her  that  the  ecstatic  love  she  bore  him  was  completely 
thrown  away;  that  he  was  better  satisfied  when  she  did  not 
fret  about  him,  and  could  bring  herself  to  find  her  happiness 
outside  of  his  society,  so  to  leave  him  at  peace  to  enjoy  him 
self  away  from  home. 

Her  little  romance  had  been  meeting  an  old  sweetheart,  for 
whom  she  had  always  cherished  a  kind  regard;  no  matter  how 
deeply  she  loved  her  husband,  she  was  always  pleased  to  see 
him,  and  he,  noticing  her  careworn,  anxious  look,  felt  a  ten 
der  pity,  and  when  the  husband  invited  him  to  the  house,  he 
readily  accepted  the  invitation.  He  wished  to  see  what 
troubled  his  dear  little  friend,  and  if  it  would  be  in  his  power 
to  help  her.  During  his  first  visit  the  husband  had  stayed  at 
home,  after  his  little  boy  had  hunted  him  up;  he  was  pleasant 


114  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

and  chatty,  and  the  old  sweetheart  had  liked  him,  and  so  he 
paid  another  visit  shortly  after;  but  the  husband,  after  talk 
ing  a  little,  yawned  once  or  twice,  then  suddenly  remembered 
he  had  an  engagement.  A  very  few  visits  showed  that  she 
was  a  neglected  wife,  and  from  pitying  her,  his  old  love  soon 
returned;  but  she  was  so  devoted  to  her  husband  that  she 
kept  him  from  saying  anything,  or  acting  in  such  a  manner 
that  should  necessitate  his  discontinuing  his  visits.  She  had 
told  him  that  her  husband  was  good  and  kind,  and  that  she 
loved  him;  but  he  looked  at  her  in  a  peculiar  way,  and  said: 

"Yes,  that's  the  way  the  world  thinks,  at  least  the  male 
portion  of  them,  that  if  a  husband  gives  his  wife  enough  to 
eat,  a  roof  above  her  head,  and  don't  beat  her,  he's  a  model 
man;  but  I  scarcely  think  that  women  really  believe  so  in  their 
hearts.  They  want  a  little  of  the  attention'  they  received  be 
fore  marriage.  I  don't  see  why  husbands  think  it  of  no  con 
sequence,  when  I'm  wicked  enough  to  believe  that  most  men, 
outside  of  the  husband,  think  married  women  as  attractive  as 
single  ones,  even  a  little  more  so." 

Edwina  herself  knew  this  was  so,  but  she  had  always  turned  off 
the  little  complimentary  speeches  addressed  to  hjer,  in  a  clever, 
witty  way,  so  that  she  was  never  greatly  annoyed,  as  soineun- 
ready-wittecl  women  are. 

Well,  her  husband  was  dead,  and  she  had  mourned  as  if 
her  heart  would  break;  but  a  few  months  after,  the  waiting, 
anxious  look  \vas  gone,  and  she  looked  years  younger;  but  she 
would  no*  have  acknowledged  it  even  to  herself,  if  she  had 
looked  fifty  times  in  the  glass;  she  would  have  considered  it 
treason  to  her  dear,  dead  husband,  whom  she  had  so,  it  seemed 
to  her,  hopelessly  loved;  but  she  knew  where  he  was  now,  and 
could  think  of  him  as  he  was  as  a  lover,  or  in  the  early  days 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  115 

of  their  married  life.  So,  when  the  old  sweetheart  proposed, 
she  said  no;  she  could  not  marry  yet;  she  did  not  believe  she 
could  ever  love  again,  as  she  had  her  darling.  Then  she  had 
gone  home  to  her  mother's.  She  did  not  live  there  now,  her 
business  forcing  her  to  live  at  the  other  end  of  the  city.  And 
this  was  her  real  history,  that  she  had  told  in  those  few  prosaic 
words. 

'•  Now,  what  does  Laura  say?  Quick,  ma,  open  the  letter; 
I'm  quite  impatient;"  and  Madge  laid  the  two  letters  in  her 
mother's  lap. 

But  the  letter  was  only  the  experience  of  a  well-off  person 
living  on  the  continent,  to  whom  the  many  scenes 
and  objects  of  interest  had  become  so  common  that  she 
thought  all  the  world  were  as  tired  of  them  as  she  was,  and  so 
described  nothing.  Only  wrote  of  her  elegant  apartments  in 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  her  dresses,  the  balls  she  went  to, 
the  plays  she  saw,  and  once  incidentally  mentioned  her  hus 
band,  and  hoping  they  were  all  well,  she  sent  them  her  best 
love. 

Madge  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  Blanche  said:  "  I'm  glad 
dear  Laura  is  so  happy.  It's  a  pity  she  had  not  one  child; 
but,  of  course,  she  can't  feel  as  I  do,  never  having  had  any." 

Then  came  Erne's  letter;  but  we  will  watch  Effie  as  she 
writes  it,  and  read  her  heart  at  the  same  time. 

The  place  is  Liverpool;  the  scene,  one  room  in  a  house  of 
furnished  lodgings;  the  occupants,  a  refined,  delicate  lady  and 
her  three  children. 

"Well,  Eugene,  to-day  we  must  write  that  letter,  and  you 
know  we  don't  want  the  others  to  pity  us,  or  think  hard  of 
dear,  dear  papa,  so  we'll  try  and  write  a  letter  to  make  them 
happy,  and  almost  envy  us  our  home."  But  Eugene  laughed 


116  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

as  he  looked  around  the  room,  at  the  poor,  faded,  torn  carpet, 
the  broken,  ugly  furniture,  the  mutilated  stove,  and  the  cur- 
taiiiless  windows;  but  he  said,  "Well,  ma'ma,  we'll  try."  So 
Effie  wrote: 

<  NEAREST  SISTERS  :  I  cannot  be  with  you,  but  according  to  our 
'  pledge '  I  write  a  letter-history  of  my  life  for  a  few  years  past. 
A  month  after  our  last  eventful  meeting,  we  moved  to  Bristol, 
where  my  darling  husband  soon  became  engaged  in  a  remun 
erative  business.  Our  home  was  a  very  happy  one;  our  two 
little  children  the  sweetest  and  best,  we  thought,  that  ever 
lived;  my  husband  never  a  night  away  from  his  own  ingle- 
nook,  and  my  heart  daily  and  nightly  thanking  God  for  my 
happiness.  Some  friends,  all  too  officious,  persuaded  my  pet 
— of  course,  you  know  who  I  mean — that  this  was  the  city  for 
him  and  his  talents,  so  we  left  our  cosy  little  cottage,  with 
the  much-loved  garden,  the  pretty  roses,  the  lilies,  the  dear 
jelly  flowers,  and  mignonette,  with  hearts  all  sad  at  the  .part 
ing,  but  ambitious  and  full  of  hope  for  the  future.  Here  we 
are  living — well,  111  describe  minutely:  Our  drawing-room — " 
But  Eugene  laughed  and  said: 

"Oh!  mamma,"  but  she  replied: 

"Well,  is  not  this  our  drawing-room?  What  other  have  we 
got  ?  "  Not  receiving  an  answer,  she  wrote : 

"Our  drawing-room  is  carpeted  with  purple  and  green,  the 
sofa  of  the  most  brilliant  pattern  of  flowers."  Eugene  looked 
at  the  little  second-hand  lounge,  that  had  been  cut  with  a 
hatchet — so  the  woman  said  who  sold  it  to  Effie  for  less  than 
one  pound,  her  husband  had  so  cut  it  during  a  quarrel — and 
sewed  up,  then  at  the  miserable  faded  carpet,  with  the  green 
scarcely  visible,  and  the  purple  entirely  gone,  save  underneath 
the  furniture.  "The  chairs,  brown,  green  and  gold,  and 
black." 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  117 

"Oh,  mamma!  mamma!" 

"Well,  are  they  not?  It  is  not  necessary  to  say  the  green 
and  gold  is  but  a  carte-seated  chair,  with  a  little  gilt  to  set  it 
off,  costing  two  shillings  at  a  second-hand  shop,  the  brown 
ditto;  and  these,  with  the  sofa,  is  all  the  furniture  that  be 
longs  to  us,  and  that  we  are  thankful  for  even  that.  Those 
wretched  black  ones  that  belong  to  the  landlady  are  almost 
paintless,  but  we  need  not  say  so." 

"  The  pictures,  rare  and  handsome."  Rare  they  were,  being 
two  little  ones  painted  many  years  ago  by  their  clear  mother, 
and  a  small  print  pasted  on  the  wall  and  framed  in  silver-gilt 
paper,  and  not  being  removable,  had  been  left  there.  The 
little  pictures  were  really  handsome,  and  the  delight  of  the 
children. 

"The  rug,  had  it  .been  paid  for  according  to  the  value  set 
on  the  work,  of  the  costliest  description;  the  design,  a  bird, 
flowers,  etc." 

"What!  that?"  and  Eugene  pointed  to  the  unfinished  rug, 
made  of  a  coffee-sack,  rags  and  carpet  '  thrums/ 

"Yes,  exactly,  dear,  for  I  would  not  make  another  for  ten 
pounds,  unless  it  was  absolutely  necessary.  Well,  that  will 
do  for  the  drawing-room;  now  for  the  parlor — " 

"But,  mamma,  we've  dot  no  parlor,"  said  little  Toots. 

"This  is  the  parlor,  too,  Toots,  but  I'll  never  mind  the 
parlor;  we'll  go  to  the  dining-room/' 

"Butdis  is  de  da  wing-room,  mamma,"  remonstrated  Toots. 

"Yes,  Pet;  and  the  parlor,  dining-room,  kitchen  and  bed 
chamber,  too,  but  we  needn't  make  grandma  unhappy  about 
it."  So  she  finished  her  letter,  saying  how  very,  very  happy 
they  were  all;  her  dear  husband  never  spending  an  evening 
away  from  home  without  her;  and  how  all  went  each  Sun- 


118  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

day  for  a  delightful  walk  down  by  the  sea,  watching  the 
vessels,  and  her  darling  explaining  all  they  saw  to  the  dear 
children,  both  amused  and  instructed  them.  Then,  the  parks 
were  another  source  of  pleasure;  the  fountains,  flowers,  gayly- 
dressed  people,  merry  children,  they  enjoyed  it  all.  That  at 
night,  when  all  her  loved  ones  were  asleep  and  well,  her  heart 
overflowed  with  thanks  to  God  for  her  happiness;  and  that 
she  hoped  they  all  were  as  happy  as  she,  and  that  their  cir 
cumstances  were  just  what  they  wished. 

She  did  not  say  how  they  were  so  poor  that  each  little  gleam 
of  sunshine  was  hailed  with  joy,  and  made  much  of;  how  liv 
ing  was  so  dear  that  meat  was  precious,  and  stale  bread,  being 
so  much  less  than  fresh,  wras  boiled  in  water,  and,  with  a  little 
milk  and  sugar,  formed  the  desert,  and  often  the  supper,  too; 
or  how  she  did  her  own  work,  Eugene  helping,  only  sending 
out  the  washing,  and  that  to  one  of  the  kindest  women,  who 
helped  her  in  many  little  ways,  sending  her  a  pot  of  butter, 
with  the  excuse  that  "  she  had  so  much/'  not  wishing  to  hurt 
her  feelings;  or  a  loaf  of  cake,  or  something  else;  that  her 
husband  had  been  unfortunate,  not  being  able  to  obtain  a 
regular  situation,  so  had  to  run  in  debt,  and  was  harassed 
and  troubled  all  the  time. 

Yet  with  all  this  trouble,  Eflie  was  happy;  happy  in  her 
husband's  love,  happy  in  the  affection  of  her  children,  and 
happy  that  they  were  all  healthy,  handsome  and  clever. 

"  Oh !  mamma !  you  forgot  to  tell  about  our  Christmas  tree," 
exclaimed  Eugene. 

"  So  I  did;"  and  she  added  a  few  lines,  describing  its  beau 
ties,  and  how  delighted  with  it  the  children  were.  So  they 
might  be,  for  it  stood  them  in  place  of  a  Christmas  dinner, 
containing  presents  from  aunts,  cousins  and  grandmas.  Poor 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  119 

Effie  could  only  put  on  home-made  tilings,  yet  the  children 
were  satisfied,  and  didn't  feel  that  they  were  at  all  poor;  even 
the  little  fellow,  almost  a  baby,  said  to  Toots: 

"  I  lite  Tanty  Taus;  Toots,  don't  oo  ?  "  And  so  the  blessed 
Christinas  came  to  them,  God  having'  them  all  in  His  own  safe 
keeping. 

"  Well  of  all,  my  dear  sisters,  I  believe  I  prefer  Erne's  lot," 
said  Madge,  after  the  letter  was  read,  and  they  had  sat  silent 
for  a  moment. 

"But  Mary  has  not  come,  and  it  is  now  too  late  to  expect  her. 
Mary,  my  baby,  my  youngest;  oh,  I  should  never  have  let  her 
go  to  that  dreadful  America." 

"  Don't  reproach  yourself,  dear  wife,  she  went  to  see  Ed- 
wina.  You  know  how  we  wrote  to  her  to  come  home  when  her 
sister  did;  but  she  said  no,  she  was  on  her  road  to  make  a 
fortune  for  us  all.  Poor  child,  poor  child." 

"  We  will  hear  from  her  soon,  no  doubt,  dear,  father,"  said 
Blanche;  "  but  now  let  us  hear  Madge's  wonderful  story." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  become  an  inventor." 

"  But  that  won't  do,"  cried  Edwina;  "  we  must  know  what 
you  have  done,  not  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

"  Oh,  I've  already  made  some  inventions,  in  imagination, 
you  know,  not  being  mechanic  enough  to  carry  them  out — 
there's  that  pepper-box." 

"  O!  O!  we  all  know  everything  about  that,"  said  Edwina. 

"  Then,  there's  the  safety-switch  for  trains." 

"Dress  trains,  dear?"  asked  Blanche,  sarcastically. 

"No;  bother  such  trains,  I  don't  wear  them.  Then  I 
thought  of  a  plow  to  deepen  shallow  rivers,  making  an  em 
bankment  at  the  same  time — " 

"  But,  Madge,  you  are  not  telling  your  history,"  said  her 
mother. 


120  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

"  "Well,  then,  let  me  see — six  years  ago — that's  such  a  long 
time^to  remember — where  shall  I  start  from? — oh,  yes,  my 
first  real  sweetheart,  Willie — I  won't  tell  his  other  name. 
"Well,  lie  was  a  little  man,  could  play  the  accordeon  beau-ti- 
fully!  and  could  make  the  nicest  little  boxes  and  magical  pic 
ture-books.  Well,  he  married  some  one  else,  but  I  didn't  cry 
my  eyes  out — then  I  had  another  sweet — " 

"Well,  we'll  say  you  had  a  dozen — what  next?"  asked 
Blanche. 

"  You're  rather  severe  on  me,  Blanche.  After  my  sweet 
hearts,  I  don't  know  Avhat  to  tell  you.  You  don't  want  to  know 
how  many  tidies  I  knit,  or  how  many  I've  sold,  or  how  many 
slippers  I  worked.  Oh!  yes,  the  parties  I've  been  to!  Well, 
there  was  Augustina  Smyth's  ball,  her  birthday  ball,  you 
know — 

"  I  don't  believe  you  have  any  history  to  tell,  Madge,"  said 
Blanche. 

"  Well,  I  don't  believe  that  I  have.  I  suppose  I  must  wait 
till  I'm  married,  or  become  a  great  inventor;  then  the  Queen 
will  knight  me,  and  I  shall  go  abroad,  and  see  and  do  all  man 
ner  of  wonderful  things;  then  I  shall  have  something  to  tell; 
now,  I  can  only  say  that  I  live  at  home  with  my  darling 
parents,  sometimes  staying  a  few  days  with  my  dear  sisters; 
that  I  am  very  happy,  and  am  going  to  become  great,  some 
day."  And  that  was  her  history. 

Now  they  all  went  to  the  drawing-room,  and  in  a  moment 
the  Christmas  tree  was  a  blaze  of  light;  and  the  children, 
coming  in,  shouted  with  pleasure.  No  one  was  forgotten, 
even  to  the  pert  nurse  girl,  and  all  were  happy,  save  the  poor 
mother,  who  longed  for  the  presence  of  her  "  baby/'  her 
Mary.  And  Mary — 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  121 

In  one  of  the  largest  theaters  of  New  York,  a  pretty  ballet- 
girl  had  appeared  for  several  months.  Lately  she  had  been 
given  small  parts,  and  acquitting  herself  well,  had  attracted 
some  attention,  especially  that  of  one  of  the  actors.  He  was 
a  fine,  handsome,  manly-looking  fellow,  often  playing  heroic, 
noble  characters.  The  girl  had  watched  him  in  silent  admira 
tion  for  months,  and  when  he  spoke  the  first  word  to  her,  she 
blushed  so  deeply,  and  was  so  timid,  that  he  was  both  amused 
and  pleased.  Well,  the  acquaintance  ripened,  till  she  almost 
adored  the  ground  he  walked  on.  La  Yiolette,  as  the  stage 
manager  had  put  her  on  the  bills,  was  a  great  reader,  and  be 
ing  so  madly  in  love,  remembered  every  story  where  the  woman 
had  sacrificed  herself  to  her  heart's  idol— Norma,  Media  and 
poor  Heloise— and  they  were  right,  too,  she  thought.  Why 
should  a  woman  lose  the  man  she  worships  ?  Oh !  how  noble 
he  was.  How  grand!  How  magnificent! 

Sbe  watched  his  every  motion  on  the  stage,  and  counted 
herself  enviable  in  having  such  a  lover;  though,  alas!  she 
never  expected  to  marry  him.  Oh,  if  she  were  only  a  great 
actress,  if  she  could  only  play  those  characters  that  were 
loved  by  him,  to  whom  he  had  to  make  such  burning  speeches, 
and  of  whom  she  was  so  madly  jealous.  At  times  how  she 
suffered.  The  tortures  of  Dante's  damned  are  pleasures  to 
the  excruciating  pangs  of  jealousy,  and  this  the  poor  girl  felt. 
One  night  he  had  kissed  her,  just  as  he  was  about  to  rush  on 
the  stage,  but  she  held  his  hand  and  said: 

"  One  more,  darling, "but  he  had  jerked  his  hand  away,  and 
replied : 

'  I  shall  get  to  hate  you;"  then  seeing  her  droop  her  head, 
and  the  tears  fall  unchecked,  he  said:  "Oh,  forgive  me,  I  was 
cruel;"  but  too  late,  he  had  broken  her  heart.  After  this  she 


122  THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE. 

was  so  quiet,  watching  him  with  hungry  eyes,  but  asking  for 
no  more  kisses. 

They  were  getting  ready  for  the  Christmas  spectacle,  and 
she  was  a  fairy,  and  had  learned  a  little  dance,  and  made  a 
beautiful  dress,  but  all  her  spirit  seemed  gone. 

Christmas -night !  The  theater  crowded,  the  spectacle  mag 
nificent,  La  Yiolette  the  sweetest  fairy  that  ever  trod  the 


stage. 


Dear  little  Pet,  you  are  pretty  to-night."  And  her  lover 
looked  pleased.  How  thankful  she  was  for  those  few  little 
words. 

Now  the  fairies  were  in  a  group,  surrounded  by  many 
colored  lights.  La  Yiolette  and  her  lover,  in  golden  lace 
armor,  were  to  appear  at  the  center,  lit  up  with  gorgeous 
green  and  red  fires;  but  just  before  the  time,  they  noticed  the 
red  fire,  that  was  resting  in  a  bottle  near  a  scene,  suddenly 
ignite,  some  one  having  removed  the  cork,  not  knowing  the 
danger.  In  a  moment  the  scene  was  in  a  blaze,  the  audience 
in  an  uproar,  not  to  be  quieted;  the  fairies  jumped  into  the 
audience,  and  were  saved,  as  the  people  were,  with  a  few 
broken  limbs.  But  the  stage  was  like  a  furnace;  every  egress 
was  cut  off;  and  there  stood  La  Yiolette  and  her  lover,  in  a 
halo  of  flames. 

"Stay  here  one  moment,  and  I  will  save  you!"  cried  she. 
Gathering  her  clothes  tightly  around  her,  and  beating  her 
way  with  her  other  hand,  she  reached  her  room;  then  seizing 
her  heavy  woolen  shawl,  she  plunged  it  in  the  bowl  of  water 
in  which  she  had  washed  her  face;  then  dashing  the  rest  upon 
herself,  she  twirled  the  shawl  around  her  hand,  and  shattered 
the  large  glass  of  the  window;  then  rushing  back,  though 
bleeding  profusely  from  the  cruel  gash  cut  in  her  unprotected 


THE  SISTERS'  PLEDGE.  123 

wris4,  she  threw  the  shawl  over  her  lover's  head,  and  seizing 
his  liandj  cried: 

"Come!  come!  you  shall  be  saved!"  But  the  flames  had 
so  increased  that  they  caught  her  dainty  dress  and  flowing 
hair.  Yet  she  dragged  him  to  her  room,  and  pointing  to  the 
broken  window,  showed  him  a  roof,  pulling  off  the  shawl. 

Oh,  God!  what  a  sight  met  his  eyes.  She  had  sunk  upon 
the  floor,  blackened  and  bleeding,  but  still  crying: 

'•(Jo,  darling!  quick,  quick,  by  the  roof!  Oh,  save  your 
self!"  But  he  stooped  and  raised  her  gently  in  his  arm,  and 
wrapping  tbe  wet  shawl  about  her,  climbed  with  difficulty  to 
the  adjoining  roof.  There  he  rested  for  a  moment,  but  she 
said : 

"Kiss  me,  darling."  And  putting  her  poor  arms  about  his 
neck,  with  that  kiss  she  died.  And  this  was  Mary. 


ESSAY 


MANAGEMENT  OF  CHILDREN. 


FIRMNESS. 


*EE  growing  difficulty  of  the  present  day  seems  to  be 
how  to  manage  children  properly.  The  problem 
would  be  easy  of  solution  were  we  all  not  only  be 
lievers  in  the  science  of  phrenology,  but  were  the  science 
itself  incontrovertibly  true. 

In  a  world  of  so  many  millions  of  inhabitants,  no  two  of 
whom  are  alike — that  is,  of  the  civilized  portion — what  would 
be  the  best  and  proper  means  of  managing  one  of  the  grow 
ing  generation  might  be  totally  inadequate  to  compass  the 
same  end  even  with  another  child. of  the  same  family;  the 
means  must  necessarily  be  almost  as  varied  as  the  dispositions 
to  be  controlled. 

But  there  is  one  simple  terse  English  word  that,  if  rightly 
understood  and  properly  applied,  would  render  a  parent's 
duty  comparatively  easy; -the  dissyllable  is  firmness. 

Now  this  does  not  of  necessity  mean  sour  looks,  crosswords, 
or  even  the  rod;  bat  when  once  a  command  is  given,  see  that 


FIRMNESS.  125 

it  is  obeyed,  no  matter  how  much  time,  patience  and  trial  of 
temper  it  takes;  remember,  one  victory  will  prevent  what  would 
otherwise  be  a  thousand  subsequent  defeats.  One  victory 
gained  without  loss  of  temper,  and  if  possible  without  a  blow, 
will  increase  the  child's  respect  for  his  parents  one  hundred 
fold.  Do  not  give  a  dozen  orders  in  so  many  minutes;  haste 
is  not  always  speed;  let  each  command  be  reasonable,  and  if 
possible,  not  entirel ;  contrary  to  the  child's  natural  instincts; 
for  instance,  to  order  a  tender-hearted  boy  to  kill  a  chicken, 
duck,  or  perhaps  an  animal,  when  it  would  be  a  fearful  pun 
ishment  for  him,  would  be  the  utmost  cruelty  on  the  part  of 
one  whose  position  could  compel  obedience;  it  would  plant 
the  seeds  of  dislike,  if  not  something  worse,  in  the  heart  of  the 
child  against  its  parent.  This  is  only  an  instance,  which  of 
course  could  be  multiplied  a  thousand  fold;  but  the  object  of 
the  writer  of.  this  is  to  set  parents  to  thinking  more  deeply  of 
their  children's  individualities  and  the  best  way  to  secure  their 
happiness,  and  with  it  their  own. 

Some  children  are  born  endowed  with  the  perfection  of 
amiable  dispositions,  to  whom  the  parent's  wishes  are  as  im 
perative  as  their  commands,  who  rarely  quarrel,  never  fight; 
whose  faces  are  always  clean,  and  clothes  irreproachable;  these 
of  course  are  easily  managed;  these  are  the  good  ones  of  the 
earth;  but  were  they  the  sole  occupants  thereof,  or  even  the 
majority,  although  the  world  would  increase  in  morality,  it 
would  remain  at  a  stand-still  in  regard  to  scientific  develop 
ments  and  discoveries,  and  the  progress  of  the  arts  and  in 
ventions.  These  are  the  moral  balance  of  power,  helping  to 
cause  the  beautiful  perfection  of  the  whole. 

The  energetic  boy  who  cannot  keep  a  toy  whole  for  two 
days,  unless  it  is  almost  indestructible;  the  boy  who  is  forever 


126  RESPECT  TO  PARENTS. 

patched  about  the  knees;  the  boy  who  is  insatiable  for  "  hap 
pens/'  or  as  we  say  "  facts;"  the  boy  who  will  never  fight  with 
one  smaller  than  himself,  but  who  is  ever  ready  to  attack  more 
than  his  peer  in  age  and  size,  who  is  ever  ready  to  defend  the 
weaker  or  oppressed, whether  human  or  brute,  who  is  never  still, 
and  asks  more  questions  than  a  philosopher  can  answer — this 
is  the  boy  who  becomes  the  lever  of  the  world,  moving-  it  to 
mighty  achievements;  but  he  is  also  the  boy  hard  to  manage; 
terrible  beatings,  "  breaking  his  spirit,"  supperlesstobed— this 
is  not  the  way.  Study  him  closely,  allow  his  inclinations  a 
certain  limit;  if  he  goes  beyond,  or  his  active  mind  leads  him 
into  what  you  consider  neither  beneficial  to  his  moral  or  phys 
ical  development,  then  give  your  commands  and  see  that  they 
are  obeyed;  but  do  not  expect  a  man's  head  on  a  boy's  shoul 
ders. 


RESPECT  TO  PARENTS. 

NEXT  to  firmness  as  a  means  for  the  proper  management  of 
children  is  the  respect  which  each  child  should  be  taught  to 
feel  for  its  parents  from  its  earliest  infancy.  Filial  love  is 
almost  universal,  but  respect  is  often  lacking.  Mothers 
make  a  great  mistake  in  sacrificing  everything  for  their 
children,  for  it  does  not  accomplish  the  end  desired— that 
of  increasing  their  happiness  and  goodness — but  rather  tends 
to  render  them  selfish,  disrespectful  and  egotistical.  AVhat 
respect  can  the  daughter  of  to-day  have  for  the  mother  who 
is  continually  untidy  and  drudging  in  the  kitchen?  The 
question:  Why  does  she  not  help,  thereby  learning  that  labor 
is  no  indignity,  and  cultivating,  by  a  more  constant  commun- 


RESPECT  TO  PAKKXTS.  127 

ion,  a  sympathetic  appreciation  for  all  that  is  good  and  beau 
tiful  in  that  mother's  heart  and  life?  is  answered  by  the  mother 
herself:  "  She  has  her  studies."  That  mother  should  know 
that  the  studies  will  be  easier,  the  sleep  sweeter,  the  cheeks 
redder,  if  some  time  were  spent  each  day  in  physical  labor, 
and  also  that,  being  constantly  seen  doing  the  menial  work  of 
the  house,  the  daughter  will  come  to  think  that  the  kitchen  is 
the  mother's  place,  and  finally  be  ashamed  of  her.  To  pro 
vide  the  best  clothes  always  for  the  daughter  or  son,  while  the 
parents  still  wear  the  garments  of  several  years  ago,  is  another 
mistake.  The  mother  should  have  the  new  dress  first,  and  the 
father  the  new  coat.  Is  not  a  boy  happier  if  his  mother  is 
praised  and  admired  when  she  visits  him  at  school,  even  if  he 
has  a  patch  on  his  knee,  than  to  be  handsomely  dressed  him 
self  and  have  the  boys  sneeringly  ask,  Ci  Is  that  your  mother  ?  " 
The  education  of  to-day  is  so  brilliant  that  an  uneducated  pa 
rent  is  apt  to  jar  unpleasantly  on  the  nerves  of  the  rising  gen 
eration;  therefore  parents  should  educate  themselves  continu 
ally,  to  be  at  least  the  equal  in  intellect  of  their  children — the 
master  mind,  if  possible.  Children  should  never  be  allowed 
to  use  a  vulgar  word  or  an  expression  in  the  presence  of  their 
parents  which  they  would  not  be  permitted  to  speak  before 
others;  nor  should  children  witness  at  home  the  indulgence 
of  vices  which  they  are  not  expected  to  follow.  What  weight 
can  the  word  of  a  drunkard  have  with  his  son,  or  the  word  of 
a  constant  swearer  or  a  white  liar  ?  What  good  advice  will  be 
accepted  from  the  mother  who  is  constantly  sending  the  little 
ones  for  her  beer,  or  who  is  continually  backbiting  her  neigh 
bors?  Neither  should  children  see  their  parents  engaged  in 
any  occupation  or  work  in  which  the  co-operation  of  those 
capable  of  assisting  could  not  be  conscientiously  asked.  In 


128  THE  DUTIES  OF  PARENTS. 

the  evening,  especially,  the  parlor  is  the  place  for  the  whole 
family,  parents  included,  not  excluded,  as  is  so  often  the  cus 
tom,  to  the  eternal  detriment  of  the  rising  generation.  A 
husband  may  be  secured  for  the  daughter  by  thus  compromis 
ing  him  by  the  absence  of  the  father  or  mother,  but  oftener  a 
breach  of  promise  case  inaugurated.  Let  the  children  see  and 
feel  that  their  parents  are  the  important  ones  of  the  house, 
the  heads  of  the  family.  In  a  word,  if  the  father  and  mother 
thoroughly  respect  themselves,  the  children  will  manifest  the 
honor  and  respect  for  their  parents  which  are  so  generally  in 
culcated  in  religious  teachings,  but  which  are  so  seldom  met 
with  in  the  homes  of  the  land.  The  children  will  do  the  same, 
thus  making  their  management  easy  and  a  parent's  duties  the 
greatest  pleasures  of  this  life. 


THE  DUTIES  OF  PARENTS. 

THE  exercise  of  the  perfection  of  any  one  quality  alone  will 
not  insure  the  proper  management  of  children.  Their  organ 
izations  are  like  the  exquisite  mechanism  of  a  watch — each  part 
for  a  different  use,  yet  all  necessary  for  the  operation  of  the 
whole,  each  requiring  the  utmost  care  and  attention,  a  grain  of 
dust  being  capable  of  stopping  the  entire  works.  Each  faculty 
and  taste  or  inclination  of  the  child  must  be  studied,  and  the 
good  ones  encouraged  to  full  development,  the  bad  ones  re 
pressed,  and  later  explained  and,  if  possible,  ridiculed  into 
quiescence;  for  ridicule,  being  almost  certain  death  to  good 
qualities,  should  be  also  to  evil  propensities.  If  their  minds 
alone  are  fed,  the  work  will  not  be  perfect.  After  the  arduous 
studies  of  the  day  there  should  be  a  relaxation,  with  some 


THE  DUTIES  OF  PARENTS.  129 

healthy,  cheerful  amusement.  If  they  have  performed  their 
duties  well  during  the  hours  devoted  to  school,  it  should 
not  be  necessary  for  the  home  hours  to  be  spent  poring  over 
lessons.  The  teacher  giving  lengthy  tasks,  necessitating  con 
tinual  study  at  home,  should  be  severely  censured  as  not 
knowing  his  or  her  duty.  It  may  be  necessary  for  a  few 
of  the  duller  scholars  to  spend  an  hour  or  so  in  study 
outside  of  school,  but  this  should  be  an  exception  to  the 
rule.  Practicing  music  in  the  evening  is  not  a  cheerful 
amusement,  either  to  the  performer  or  listener;  but  playing 
or  singing  is,  and  should  often  be  indulged  in.  Even  little 
boys  are  happier  and  gentler  when  they  can  sing  or  perform 
on  some  instrument.  Nothing  so  strengthens  the  bonds  of 
love  in  a  family  as  singing  together.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  memories  of  home.  The  scoffs  and  jeers  of  pro 
fessors  and  philosophers  against  amateur  musicians  should  be 
entirely  ignored,  remembering  only  the  good  that  music  does 
in  a  family. 

Little  informal  gatherings  of  friends,  young  and  old,  with 
games,  conversation,  and  even  the  simplest  refreshment,  help 
to  make  home  attractive.  Family  visiting  should  be  cultiva 
ted,  and  family  excursions;  the  art  galleries  and  things  of  in 
terest  should  be  seen  together,  for  the  stronger  the  bond  is, 
the  better  and  purer  the  children  will  be.  Dancing  should 
not  be  the  only  amusement;  it  is  well  enough  once  in  a  while, 
but  all  parties  should  not  begin  and  end  with  the  intellect  of 
the  feet.  The  early  training  of  children  should  tend  to  render 
them  when  grown  capable  of  those  conversations  that  some 
times  become  historical,  and  are  always  worth  listening  to. 
The  practice  of  locking  up  the  parlor  except  for  company  is 
most  pernicious,  rendering  the  refining  influence  of  pictures, 


130  THE  DUTIES  OF  PARENTS. 

statuettes  and  books  of  little  avail.  No  parlor  should  be  too 
good  or  costly  to  render  happier  or  better  those  most  loved, 
and  kept  for  the  entertainment  of  those  for  whom,  we  some 
times  care  so  little.  To  cook,  eat,  and  also  exist  in  the  kitch 
en,  where  a  pleasant  parlor  is  available,  is  not  worthy  a  civil 
ized  being.  But  all  careful  supervision  will  be  almost  neu 
tralized  by  the  influence  of  one  bad  companion;  therefore 
children  should  be  often  questioned  in  a  pleasant,  uninquisi- 
torial  way  about  their  associates  at  school  and  their  compan 
ions  in  their  hours  of  play.  Much  future  misery  and  shame 
may  thus  be  spared;  the  evil  habits  being  formed  will  thus  be 
discovered,  and  can  and  must  be  nipped  in  the  bud.  One 
thoroughly  bad  boy  or  girl  will  vitiate  the  morals  of  the  chil 
dren  of  a  whole  neighborhood,  and  his  or  her  detestable  char 
acter  must  be  pointed  out,  the  ignominy  to  which  it  tends  con 
trasted  with  the  nobility  of  a  purer  life,  and  their  hearts  ap 
pealed  to.  A  stern  command  that  the  association  with  such  a 
one  shall  be  immediately  discontinued,  without  these  good  rea 
sons  given,  is  apt  to  increase  the  danger  by  rendering  the  forbid 
den  companionship  secret  and  more  fascinating  on  that  account. 
Children  between  the  period  of  school  years  and  almost  to 
maturity  should  not  be  supposed  to  remain  ignorant  of  many 
of  nature's  laws,  and  therefore  it  is  far  better  that  they  shall 
learn  from  the  gentle  lips  of  a  mother,  or  the  discreet  conver 
sation  of  a  father,  what  will  otherwise  be  taught  them  in  a  dis 
torted  and  very  undesirable  way  by  some  too  precocious  com 
panion.  Children  should,  then,  be  studied  closely  and  sup 
plied  with  healthy  amusements,  good  companions  and  a  suf 
ficiency  of  work.  To  teach  them  it  is  not  incompatible  with 
dignity,  so  their  hearts,  minds  and  bodies  should  be  brought 
as  near  perfection  as  possible,  and  then  our  good  sense  will 
accomplish  the  rest. 


WOMAN. 
PAST,  PRESENT,  AND  FUTURE. 

*' 

j  STAND  up  in  defense  of  my  sex.  I  stand  up  to  hurl 

^  the  gauntlet  of  defiance  into  the  face  of  that  old  octo- 
genarian,  the  London  Saturday  Review.  I  stand  up 
to  defy  the  writers,  young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  male 
or  female,  who  willfully  and  with  malice  aforethought,  vilify 
the  Present  Woman. 

The  blushing,  drooping  modesty  of  a  century  ago  was  well 
enough  for  feudal  days  and  feudal  castles,  when  the  faintest 
shriek  from  fair  lips  would  summon  a  dozen  knights  errant 
and  cavaliers  to  the  distressed  one's  side;  when  a  woman  wras 
only  expected  to  look  pretty  and  work  embroidery;  when  mead 
ran  in  the  cellar,  and  wrhole  carcasses  of  beef  hung  in  the  pan 
try;  wiien  nothing  more  serious  than  the  Troubadour's  latest 
song  occupied  the  fair  one's  mind;  then,  indeed,  this  blushing, 
drooping  modesty  was  the  fitting  and  expected  characteristic 
of  the  sex  that  then  dared  hardly  risae  their  eyes  to  the  faces 
of  their  lords. 

But  in  this  rushing,  bustling  world,  a  woman  is  considered 
as  good  as  another  man,  to  fight  the  battle  of  life,  but  not  to 
have  quite  as  good  a  right. 

Why,  I've  seen  a  little  woman  just  out  of  a  sick  bed,  and 
not  tall  enough  to  reach  the  strap,  stand  during  a  long  ride  in 


132  WOMAN. 

a  street  car;  she  had  as  much  right  to  stand  as  a  healthy  man, 
and  she  did.  Her  blushing,  or  rather  pale  modesty,  didn't 
help  her  much.  I've  seen  these  delicate  creatures — whom  the 
writers  of  the  day  deplore  as  having  lost  the  blushing  afore 
said — nearly  pushed  into  the  gutter,  to  make  way  for  a  strong 
man;  they  had  just  as  good  a  right  to  get  their  dainty  feet 
muddy  as  he;  in  fact,  I've  felt  the  hard  elbows  in  my  own  side, 
and  never  even  pushed  back  in  retaliation;  but  I've  ground 
my  teeth  and  thought  naughty  things. 

It's  all  very  pretty  to  read  about  this  drooping  modesty,  and 
occasionally  would  light  up  well  as  a  picture,  with  damask 
and  lace  curtains  as  a  background,  and  a  hanging  lamp  and 
handsome  young  man  as  auxiliaries;  but  for  practical  use  in 
this  work-a-clay  world  we  want  just  such  women  as  we  have 
got— hard-headed,  and  hard-handed,  too,  sometimes,  with  a 
dogged  determination  to  hold  their  own  even  against  a  thou 
sand  male  competitors. 

I  will  tell  you  some  facts  to  support  my  arguments.  In 
Philadelphia,  in  the  year  187-,  there  were  two  lady  engravers, 
and  but  two  who  made  it  a  profession,  so  I  was  told,  in  the 
whole  city.  One  of  them  I  knew-  she  worked  for  years  illus 
trating  Godey's  Lady's  Book,  and  her  work  was  as  good  as  that 
in  any  contemporary  magazine;  but  the  male  engravers— I 
will  not  call  them  men — determined  that  those  two  women 
should  not  be  competitors,  even  if  they  had  to  do  the  work  for 
that  magazine  for  nothing;  so  they  underbid  and  underbid 
them,  till  at  last  they  got  their  wish,  and  years  of  faithful  ser 
vice  was  forgotten  in  that  goodly  city,  because  the  stronger 
sex  wanted  no  women  rivals,  so  would  work  cheaper— at  least 
till  they  got  rid  of  them. 

Then,  again,  one  of  these  ladies  was  for  years  the  teacher  of 


WOMAN.  133 

on  graving  in  a  school  of  design;  a  man  came  and  offered  to  teach 
for  nothing;  magnanimous  creature!  and  the  female — shaming 
her  sex — who  conducted  the  establishment  accepted  the  offer. 
How  long  he  taught  for  nothing  after  this  gallant  action  is 
not  hard  to  surmise. 

Will  the  London  Saturday  Review,  and  the  thousand  and 
one  other  howlers,  please  tell  us  what  retiring,  modest  sim 
plicity  would  have  accomplished  in  these  cases?  Perhaps  a 
deluge  of  tears,  or  a  few  fainting  fits,  would  have  softened  these 
male  creatures'  hearts,  and  the  weak  sisters  would  have  been 
permitted  to  earn  their  own  living  in  peace;  but  we  doubt  it. 
And  such  are  the  people  and  circumstances  women  have  daily 
to  encounter  in  this  weary  struggle  for  existence.  Is  it  not 
enough  to  rub  the  blush  and  bloom  off  beauty's  cheek,  to 
harden  the  native  delicacy  of  her  feelings,  to  make  her  try  to 
educate  herself  as  man  to  meet  man  ? 

This  is  all  very  well,  you  may  think,  for  the  working  class; 
but  this  is  a  great  class.  Watch  the  streets  of  a  large  city  at 
six  P.  M.,  near  the  manufactories,  and  you  will  be  surprised  to 
see  the  crowd  of  girls  and  women,  with  their  little  baskets 
and  bundles;  then  there  are  thousands  who  do  not  go  in 
crowds,  from  the  photograph  galleries,  the  counters,  the 
school-rooms,  the  theaters,  the  printing-offices,  the  opera- 
singers,  the  servant  girls,  and  our  poor,  poor  despised  saloon- 
waiters  and  singers. 

One-half  of  this  vast  army  have  been  as  delicately  brought 
up  as  the  blushing-modesty  people  could  wish;  but  they  soon 
find  that  actual  life  is  somewhat  different  from  romance,  and 
that  the  Don  Quixotes  are,  alas!  all  dead;  that  the  prizes  are 
for  those  that  can  battle  the  hardest,  and  not  for  the  retiring, 
easily  vanquished,  humble  woman.  Is  it  a  wonder,  then,  that 


134  WOMAN. 

their  air  is  a  little  more  defiant  than  may  be  desirable,  or  their 
voice  a  shade  louder,  or  their  lives  more  independent  ? 

I  despise  the  girl  or  woman  who  is  always  looking  out  for  an 
insult,  and  can  make  a  double  entendre  of  every  little  joke 
that's  uttered.  I've  seen  such;  these  are  the  horsewhipping, 
cowhiding  kind.  I've  seen  that,  too,  in  one  of  the  largest  of 
Eastern  theaters,  where  the  women  screamed,  "Don't  let  him 
hit  her,"  when  the  "  he"  apparently  had  no  intention  of  doing 
anything  but  hold  the  infuriated  woman's  arms.  I  thought 
her  blushing  modesty  deserved  a  right  smart  beating  in  re 
turn. 

I've  heard  of  the  blushing  kind  replying  to  the  remarks  of 
strangers,  and  then  when  one  shows  pretty  plainly  what  he 
thinks  she  is,  she  is  indignant  and  calls  on  her  big  brother,  or 
avenges  her  own  honor  in  some  public  place.  Had  she  walked 
on  with  her  eyes  before  her,  attending  to  her  own  affairs,  in  a 
sensible,  business  way,  not  trying  the  game  of  dropping  eye 
lids  and  faltering  footsteps,  to  be  admired  as  so  unsophisti 
cated!  she  could  go  through  the  w^orld  without  one  insult,  or 
many  occasions  to  do  blushing  either. 

We  wTant  to  know  where  the  women  of  to-day  have  so  dete 
riorated  that  all  these  cries  should  be  raised  against  them; 
can't  they  do  as  much  as  they  ever  did  ?  Aye,  a  thousand 
times  more!  Look  how  many  women  support  their  families, 
or  help  their  husbands  to  do  so,  or  provide  for  a  mother,  or 
dependent  little  sisters  and  brothers!  in  so  many  different 
branches  of  industry,  too,  that  a  few  years  ago  were  sealed 
books  to  women. 

Letters  from  the  great  exposition  tells  of  some  good  inven 
tions  emanating  from  female  brains.  One,  a  fire-proof  build 
ing  material,  which,  if  it  be  all  that  is  claimed,  will  prove  a 


WOMAN.  135 

valuable  epoch  in  the  world's  history.  In  our  own  little  fair 
here,  women  made  their  presence  known  with  their  sweet 
tar-drops,  and  their  hair-restorer;  and  who  will  deny  the 
palm  to  a  woman  for  the  boon  of  all  boons — at  least  most 
married  men  think  so — Mrs.  "Winslow's  soothing  syrup  ?  How 
many  a  night  would  the  masculine  rest  be  broken,  the  peace 
ful  dreams  annihilated,  the  morning  nap  disturbed,  had  not 
kind  Providence  permitted  the  woman  "Wiiislow  to  be  born 
and  bred! 

Education,  too,  is  more  universal  than  it  ever  was  before; 
and  as  for  the  modesty  in  dress,  no  one  who  looks  at  a  lady's 
magazine  of  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago  will  pretend  that  our  dear 
ancestors  set  us  an  example  that  could  be  followed  without 
the  greatest  scandal  in  these,  according  to  their  cry,  degraded 
days.  A  petticoat  or  gown  of  the  scantiest  pattern,  showing 
foot,  ankle,  shape  and  bosom;  a  net-work  of  pearls  or  gold 
braid  covering  the  whole,  until  the  extravagance  was  pro 
hibited  by  a  decree  from  the  throne.  I've  seen  the  book — 
tiny  slippers,  long  white  gloves,  a  few  short,  fleecy  curls,  and 
a  lady  was  in  full  dress  for  court  or  ball. 

And  they  cry,  too,  so  much  about  a  woman's  make-up;  this 
is  of  nonsense  the  very  sheerest.  In  the  car,  the  other  day, 
of  all  the  women  there,  some  eight  or  more,  I  could  almost 
take  my — I  wras  going  to  swear!  oh,  my! — that  not  one  was  the 
least  made  up  by  pad  or  bustle,  hair  or  jute,  paint  or  powder, 
except  the  little  that  perhaps  remained  on  my  face,  and  that 
the  great  majority  of  women  are  likewise  as  nature  made  them. 

Those  that  are  made  up,  what  does  it  amount  to  ?  A  little 
cotton  where  nature  has  been  illiberal,  a  newspaper  to  give 
the  dress  a  proper  set,  and  a  little  powder  to  soften  the  effect 
of  tan  or  freckles.  There  are  a  few  exceptions  to  the  rule, 


136  WOMAN. 

of  course,  but  not  enough  to  warrant  the  conclusion  that  we 
are  all  going  headlong  to  the  — . 

These  very  croakers  would  smile  sweeter,  and  raise  their 
hats  higher,  to  a  pretty  woman,  even  if  they  knew  that  art 
helped  to  make  her  a  joy  forever,  than  they  would  to  rusty, 
dusty  sii  plicity,  with  a  drooping  head  and  a  giggle. 

I  can  imagine  drooping,  blushing  modesty  changed  into  a 
wife  of  to-day;  after  the  first  three  weeks  her  husband  would 
tell  her  she  was  a  fool  to  be  so  sensitive,  and  not  to  blush 
whenever  a  person  looked  at  her,  as  if  she  was  ashamed  of  her 
self ;  and  ten  to  one,  she  would  have  to  gird  up  her  loins  for 
a  good  day's  washing  before  many  months  were  over,  if  she 
had  not  the  spirit  to  say  "I  shan't!"  and  stick  to  it. 

I  don't  deprecate  modesty,  mind  me,  but  maintain  that  the 
women  of  the  present  clay  are  as  modest  as  is  necessary  to 
good  sense;  in  fact,  as  modest  as  they  ever  were. 


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,ITE — By  Miss  Edna  Verne.     Large  I2mo,  paper 

i  FOR  ELF-LAND  !— By  Miss  Alice  Kingsbjiry,  Elegantly 
und  in  cloth,  beveled  edges,  with  numerous  illustrations  and 
lored  portrait  of  the  authoress .  1  5(1 


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